Winter had arrived in full force, blanketing the world outside in a sharp chill that seeped through even the thickest coats and scarves.

The icy air bit at your skin, leaving you with a lingering cold that had taken its toll on you more than you cared to admit. Now, nestled in Tamaki’s room, you found yourself wrapped in the soft cocoon of his blankets.

The scent of lavender and a hint of chamomile—the comforting smell of him—made it easier to close your eyes and momentarily forget the sore ache in your body.

Tamaki had insisted that you stay with him, despite your protests about possibly passing your cold to him.

You had weakly argued, not wanting to see him ill, but how could you resist when he pleaded so earnestly, those deep blue eyes wide with concern and his cheeks dusted with a worried blush?

The mere sight of him, all anxious and sweet, was enough to make your heart ache more than any fever could.

A quiet rustle from the hallway signaled his return. Tamaki stepped into the room, the warm, golden light casting a gentle glow across his face. He held a bowl of steaming soup in his hands, the aroma of fresh herbs and vegetables filling the air.

His hair was pushed back neatly, held by a delicate butterfly hairpin that seemed to twinkle with each movement. It was a small, whimsical touch that made your heart clench with fondness.

“Sit up, please,” he said, his voice soft yet firm, carrying a gentle authority that left no room for argument.

He set the bowl down momentarily to help you prop yourself against the pillows. The warmth from his hands lingered on your skin, leaving behind a trail of comfort.

He settled beside you, spoon in hand, filled with a careful scoop of the broth he’d prepared just for you.

Though you were more than capable of feeding yourself, Tamaki’s determination to nurse you back to health was unyielding. The concentrated look on his face as he raised the spoon to your lips was endearing, almost comically so.