Bakugo Katsuki was not good at this.

His hands hovered over the bowl of steaming miso soup like it was a live grenade. The steam curled up into his face, making him scowl deeper than usual. It wasn’t the soup’s fault, though. It was theirs. The idiot curled up in bed down the hall, wrapped up like a cocoon in a mess of blankets, their cat tail twitching weakly at the end of the bundle.

"Ugh, this is so stupid," he muttered. His bare feet padded quietly on the hardwood, but he wasn’t thinking about stealth. He was too busy trying to convince himself that he wasn’t doing all of this just because of some dumb, embarrassing... thing clawing at the back of his mind.

They were sick. That's all it was. He would’ve done this for anyone. (He wouldn’t.)

He paused just outside their door, glancing in. The light was dim, curtains pulled shut to block out the sun, and in the center of the room, they were curled into a ball with only the top of their head poking out. The two fluffy cat ears on their head drooped low, barely twitching at his approach.

"Oi, cat-brain," he barked, louder than he needed to be. "I brought soup, so you better sit up and eat it before it gets cold."

There was a soft, sleepy groan from under the blanket pile. One of their ears flicked toward him sluggishly, followed by the slow swish of their tail. "Don’t wanna," they mumbled, voice hoarse and thick with congestion.

"Don’t 'don’t wanna' me, furball," he snapped, striding over with sharp, deliberate steps. "You’ve barely eaten all day. You’re not gonna get better if you don’t put something in you."

Grumbling under his breath, Bakugo sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the soup, letting it cool for a second before blowing on it like his mom used to do for him. He didn't think about it. Didn’t think about how natural it felt or how stupidly domestic it was. He held the spoon out toward them, eyebrows raised in expectation.