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Shouta wasn't exactly the best at self-care these days. He'd made progress — largely thanks to his partner and friends nudging him toward better habits — but he still slipped up now and then, falling back into old patterns.
Like tonight.
He should've been tucked in bed nursing his fever, but instead, there he was — strapping on his utility belt, wrapping his capture scarf around his neck, and launching himself off his apartment balcony. Barely half an hour later, reality crashed down on him when some low-level criminal landed a punch that sent his already foggy mind reeling into a dizzy spiral.
Stumbling, he barely managed to apprehend the man with his capture weapon before his knees buckled beneath him. The world tilted dangerously as he secured the criminal, his vision blurring at the edges. He fumbled for his phone, knowing he needed backup but too stubborn to admit how badly he'd overestimated his condition.
Rather than calling for help, he only notified the police about the apprehended criminal and dragged himself back to his feet. Going home didn't even cross his mind. Of course not — that would be sensible. Instead, he pushed his body forward, determined to finish his patrol.
In the morning, when the fever broke and clarity returned, he'd curse himself for being such a stubborn, reckless idiot. But for now, Shouta leapt between buildings, running forward on pure stubbornness, silently willing his shaky legs to carry him just a little further through the night.
His vision swam as he misjudged a gap between buildings, barely catching himself on a fire escape with trembling hands. The cool metal railing felt relieving against his burning skin, just for a moment before nausea crashed over him. Shouta pressed his forehead against the rusty bars, willing the world to stop spinning.
Damnit.
Shouta’s head throbbed painfully as he tried to focus on his surroundings. He'd survived tougher nights, fought through more desperate situations, and come out the other side. Still, even his iron will was failing him now. He realised with growing, yet distant, alarm that his hands were shaking too badly to grip the fire escape properly, and his body temperature was spiking dangerously high.
One second he was gripping the fire escape, and the next he was crashing to the pavement below. The drop wasn't life-threatening, but the impact sent jolts of pain through his spine.
A painful groan escaped Shouta's lips, his body longing to curl into itself for protection but frozen by fear of making any potential injuries worse. His mind swam through a fog, limbs heavy and unresponsive as if weighed down by invisible chains.
His coworkers were going to have a field day with this once they found out. That was, if they found him at all. The thought churned a sick twist of panic in his gut as his vision blurred further, the stars above him smearing into meaningless streaks of light. In his feverish state, Shouta couldn't remember if he'd told anyone where he was going tonight.
Maybe he would freeze to death before anyone could drag his sorry ass home.
His arms were too heavy, his head aching fierce, as consciousness threatened to slip away entirely. It would be so easy to give in to the darkness creeping at the edges of his vision. Yet despite his body's protests, some stubborn part of him refused to surrender completely, even as the world around him blurred and faded.
If Shouta died in some grimy back alley because he'd pushed his body past its limits… How embarrassing. He couldn’t let that happen.
Fighting against the weight of sickness, Shouta fumbled for his phone. The screen's harsh light stung his sensitive eyes as he squinted at the display, holding it inches from his face just to make out the icons. Something inside him hesitated, pride battling with survival instinct while his thumb lingered over Hizashi's name. Better to wound his ego than to get hypothermia.
With trembling fingers, he managed to hit the call button, then dropped the phone to his chest as a violent coughing fit seized him — tearing at his already raw throat. The ringtone seemed to echo forever in the empty alley, each second stretching as he fought to remain conscious. When Hizashi's concerned voice finally came through the speaker, Shouta could barely manage a hoarse whisper: "Need... help."
"Jesus— Shouta? Where the hell are you right now?"
He could barely remember where he was, let alone articulate it. Through the haze, he tried to find words, something, anything that might guide Hizashi to him.
"Alley... fire escape... don't know," he rasped, his voice barely audible. "Tracking... my phone..."
"Dammit Shouta, you'd better not be dying! Hold tight — I'm tracking your signal right now!"
The line went dead. Shouta's head lolled to the side, his phone slipping from weak fingers to clatter on the concrete. Through blurry vision, he watched the screen light fade, plunging him back into darkness as consciousness finally slipped away.
…
A muffled voice tugged at the edges of Shouta's awareness, pulling a weak grunt from his lips. Not inside his head, he realised distantly — someone was actually there, speaking somewhere close by.
Then, a familiar touch on his face brought him back to semi-consciousness — warm fingers pressed to his cheek, then his forehead. Shouta tried to open his eyes but found them too heavy, his body refusing to cooperate as the voice grew clearer.
"—can't believe you, you absolute idiot," Hizashi was saying, his tone wavering between anger and fear. "Shouta? Can you hear me?"
Shouta nodded slowly, though even that was difficult.
"What happened to you? Took a tumble off something?"
"...Fever," Shouta managed to rasp out, wincing as Hizashi let out a disbelieving snort.
"So… let me get this straight. You're burning up with a fever, decided to play hero anyway, and now you're sprawled in an alley? Great plan." He sighed, shoulders dropping. "I'll save the full lecture for when you can actually remember it. And just wait till Nem hears about this — she'll have your head."
Shouta knew he deserved whatever scolding waited for him. After a moment, he felt Hizashi's arms slide beneath him, lifting him with surprising gentleness despite his obvious frustration. His head lolled against his friend's shoulder as consciousness threatened to slip away again, settling into the warmth.
Hizashi was unnaturally silent as he carried him through the darkened streets to his car, which only increased Shouta's guilt. It was one thing to endanger himself, but dragging his best friend out in the middle of the night was another thing entirely. The gentle but firm way Hizashi held him spoke volumes about the worry he'd caused — far more effective than any lecture could be.
The car ride was mostly silent too, Shouta drifting in and out of consciousness as the city lights blurred past the window. When they finally reached Hizashi's apartment — closer than Shouta's own — he found himself being half-carried, half-dragged up the stairs. His skin still burned with fever, but there was a strange comfort in giving up control, if only for tonight.
When they finally reached the apartment, Hizashi lowered Shouta onto the couch. A pained sound escaped Shouta's lips as his aching body met the cushions. "’m sorry for dragging you into my mess," he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.
Hizashi let out a sigh and shook his head, then carefully lifted Shouta's legs to slide onto the couch, settling them across his lap. "Don't worry about it," he muttered. "Not like this is the first time I've had to haul your stubborn ass home."
Despite his half-conscious state, a familiar warmth spread through Shouta's chest. He was lucky, he realised dimly, to have people who would come for him like this — even when he was being a dumbass. The thought followed him down as he drifted into sleep, Hizashi's steady presence anchoring him through the worst of it.