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The rain tapped softly against the dorm window, a steady rhythm that filled the small apartment Kiryu and Suo shared just off campus.
The world outside their college building was gray and blurred, but inside, the room was warm—mostly because Kiryu had turned the heater up too high in his panic.
Suo was sick.
It had started that morning with a faint cough during their literature lecture. By lunchtime, his voice was hoarse. By evening, he was curled miserably under three blankets on their couch, brown hair sticking to his forehead, reddish-brown eye glassy with fever.
Kiryu stood over him, hands on his hips, pink hair falling into his bright green eyes as he frowned dramatically. “You said you were fine,” Kiryu accused softly.
Suo sniffled. “I am fine.”
“You almost passed out walking up the stairs.”
“That was… strategic resting.” Kiryu sighed, rolling his eyes, but his expression melted almost immediately. He knelt beside the couch and brushed Suo’s bangs away from his face. His touch was cool and gentle. “You’re burning up.”
Suo leaned into his hand automatically, too tired to argue. “You don’t have to fuss over me.”
Kiryu huffed. “I absolutely do. It’s in the boyfriend contract.”
“We never signed a contract.”
“It was implied.”
Despite the fever, Suo smiled faintly. Kiryu stood and disappeared into their tiny kitchen. Cabinets opened. The kettle clicked on. He was quieter than usual—no humming, no muttering to himself. Just careful movements. He returned with a mug of tea and a damp cloth, settling back beside Suo.
“Sit up,” Kiryu instructed gently.
Suo tried. He failed halfway and groaned.
Kiryu slid an arm behind his back and helped him up, taking the burden of his weight. Their shoulders touched. Suo’s head tipped forward until it rested against Kiryu’s chest. “You’re heavy,” Kiryu teased softly.
“Then let me go.”
“Not a chance.”
Suo didn’t argue after that. Kiryu held the mug to his lips. “Small sips.” Suo obeyed, catching sight of concern etched into Kiryu's normal soft features. The warmth of the tea spread through him, and he felt some of the tightness in his chest loosen.
They stayed like that for a while, Suo half-curled into Kiryu, Kiryu steady and warm and solid behind him.
“Sorry,” Suo murmured eventually.
“For what?”
“Ruining our study plans. You wanted to go over notes tonight.”
Kiryu blinked, then pressed his cheek lightly against the top of Suo’s head. “You think I care about notes more than you?”
Suo didn’t answer.
Kiryu tightened his hold slightly. “Apparently so.” He tilted his love’s chin back until their eyes met. “Nothing takes priority over you.”
There was no dramatic confession in his voice. Just certainty. Suo’s fingers curled into the fabric of Kiryu’s sweater. “You’re going to get sick too.”
“Probably,” Kiryu admitted. “But that just means you’ll have to take care of me next week.”
Suo gave a weak laugh that turned into a cough. Kiryu immediately set the mug aside and rubbed small circles against his back. “I hate seeing you like this,” Kiryu said quietly.
Suo tilted his head back just enough to look up at him. Even feverish, his visible eye was warm. “You look cute when you worry.”
Kiryu flushed pinker than his hair. “I do not.”
“You do.”
Kiryu leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Suo’s forehead, lingering there. “Rest. I’ll be here.”
“You have class tomorrow.”
“I’ll skip.”
“You love that class.” Kiryu hesitated. Suo smiled faintly. “Go. I’ll survive six hours without you.”
Kiryu narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You promise not to collapse dramatically while I’m gone?”
“No promises.”
Kiryu groaned, but there was no real annoyance in it. He helped Suo lie back down, tucking the blankets around him carefully. Then he moved to sit on the floor beside the couch instead of returning to his desk.
“You’re not moving?” Suo mumbled sleepily.
“Nope.”
“You’re uncomfortable.”
“Worth it.”
Suo reached down weakly and tangled his fingers in Kiryu’s pink hair. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you love me.”
A pause.
“…Yeah,” Suo whispered.
Kiryu’s expression softened completely. He intertwined their fingers and rested his head against the couch cushion near Suo’s arm. “Sleep,” he murmured.
Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, Suo’s breathing slowly evened out, his feverish tension easing little by little. Kiryu stayed awake longer than he meant to, watching over him with stubborn devotion. By the time he drifted off, still holding Suo’s hand, the room felt warmer—not from the heater, but from the quiet certainty that whatever college threw at them :late-night exams, cold rain, or stubborn fevers, they would face it together.