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Kokichi felt absolutely miserable. Sprawled out on the bed, a feverish sheen coated his skin.
His usual mischievous energy was nowhere to be found, even if he tried to be his regular self, he was only a sniffly mess buried under a pile of blankets that his body couldn’t decide whether to kick off or clutch tighter around himself, an aggravating cycle of being either too hot or too cold.
The sound of footsteps caused the boy to open his tired eyes, rubbing the sleep from them.
Kaito stood at the doorway, a bowl of soup in his hands, the concern in his eyes made Kokichi cringe.
Despite the fact they were dating, the ultimate supreme leader hated being vulnerable, even around his boyfriend. He felt pathetic.
“C'mon, man, you gotta eat eventually,” Momota spoke as he got closer to the bed, not too close, he couldn’t risk getting sick, as much as he loved him.
The purple haired boy had barely eaten since he got sick, even when he did, he would almost immediately throw it back up.
That was definitely the worst part for Kaito, hearing his poor boyfriend in pain was heartbreaking, especially due to how energetic he usually is. Seeing the ultimate supreme leader in such a state was just depressing.
“I don’ wanna,” Kokichi grumbled, turning to look away from his boyfriend . It seems like getting sick didn’t take everything from him.
But Kaito wasn’t taking no for an answer, Kokichi needed food in his belly, even if it took putting up a fight for it to happen. Besides, there wasn’t much Ouma could do about it anyway. He was at quite the disadvantage.
Kokichi knew deep down he was fighting a losing battle.
Stupid Kaito cared way too much about him, acting so sweet the past few days that it made him want to punch him.
The man got closer to the bed, placing the bowl of chicken noodle soup on the bedside table, he lifted Kokichi by his armpits to sit up, gaining a displeased groan from the sick boy.
The fact he could be picked up so easily was just another reminder of how weak he was.
Kaito sat at the edge of the bed, picking up the warm bowl again, he made sure the soup wasn’t too hot before bringing a spoon to Kokichi’s mouth.
“Open up,” Momota spoke, and to his surprise, Kokichi complied.
The broth felt gratifying against his sore throat, letting out a pleased hum, Ouma slurped more of it down eagerly, he didn’t realize how hungry he was until now.
“Careful, ‘Ichi! ‘Don’t want you to throw up again,” despite the joy he felt over his boyfriend finally eating, he had to be cautious.
Kokichi leaned into Kaito’s touch as the man wiped away some spilled soup from his chin, looking up at him with an uncharacteristic warmth. “Momo-Chan is so sappy… It’s gross,” the boy sighed, giggling softly at the way Kaito’s eyes widened, the slightest blush on his face.
“Shut up. I’m your boyfriend, I’m supposed to take care of you when you’re sick,” the astronaut scoffed, trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat over a single glance. “Now finish your soup before it gets cold.”
The boy’s hunger outweighed his constant need to be a pompous little asshole, and it didn’t take too long for him to finish the entire bowl, much to Kaito’s delight. He wiped Kokichi’s face again, chuckling at the way his boyfriend scrunched his nose in protest like an irritated kitten.
Just as Kaito stood to leave, Kokichi’s fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, weak but insistent.
“Stay,” he muttered, voice meek, like he was already regretting asking.
Kaito hesitated, who knows how contagious Kokichi could be? But looking back at his small figure, those big pleading eyes, it was impossible to deny him.
The supreme leader’s cheeks were flushed from fever, his lips slightly parted as he breathed through his mouth, his hair sticking to his forehead in messy purple strands, he looked so fragile.
Kaito couldn’t help but think how rare this was, seeing Kokichi stripped of all his usual bravado, reduced to nothing but warmth and quiet neediness. His fingers still clung to Kaito’s shirt like a lifeline, trembling.
Kaito sighed, reluctantly scooting up onto the bed next to Kokichi. "Fine, but if I get sick, I'm kicking your ass," he muttered, no actual venom to his voice. The smaller boy immediately curled into his side like an animal seeking warmth, pressing his feverish forehead against Kaito's shoulder with a pained sigh.
“Jesus, you’re burning up,” Kaito murmured, pressing the back of his hand to Kokichi’s forehead. The heat radiating off him was alarming, but the way Kokichi leaned into the touch so desperately made Kaito’s chest ache.
Kokichi’s breath hitched, his fingers twisting tighter into Kaito’s shirt as a shudder ran through him. “It hurts,” he whined, voice cracking in a way that made Kaito’s stomach drop.
Tears welled in Kokichi’s glassy eyes, spilling over before he could even blink, weak, pathetic, humiliating.
He hated this. Hated how his vision blurred, how his throat felt raw. But most of all, he hated how Kaito was seeing him like this. Sniffling, trembling, crying genuine tears that differed so much from his usual dramatic crocodile ones.
Kaito hesitated before pulling him closer, wrapping an arm around Kokichi’s shoulders, feeling the way his ribs pressed into him sharply—had he always been this small?
He stroked Kokichi’s damp hair back from his forehead, fingers lingering against the fevered skin there.
The boy whimpered, pressing closer as if trying to burrow into Kaito’s side.
“Don’t look at me,” Kokichi rasped, hiding his face in Kaito’s shirt, his breath hot enough to feel through the fabric.
Kaito’s fingers tightened instinctively around Kokichi’s shoulder, not enough to hurt, but enough to earn a gasp. “You’re telling this to the guy who held your puke bucket?”
Kokichi huffed, still pressed against Kaito's chest. "Yeah, and that was disgusting," he mumbled, The heat of his own breath bounced back at him, making his flushed cheeks burn hotter— whether from fever or embarrassment, he couldn’t tell.
Kaito sighed through his nose, impatient but fond. Without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Kokichi’s damp temple, tasting salt on his lips. It was soft, fleeting, but Kokichi tensed instantly, as if shocked by the tenderness of it. His breath hitched audibly, fingers gripping Kaito’s shirt tighter— whether to pull him closer or push him away, even he didn’t know.
“You’re going to get sick, idiot,” Kokichi mewled, but there was no bite to his words— just a quiet tremor of disbelief. The kiss lingered like a brand against his skin, hotter than the fever burning through him.
Kaito shrugged, resting his chin atop Kokichi’s head. He let Ouma cuddle close to him, and he knew he would regret it later, but he mumbled, “Worth it.”