Toshinori knew when something wasn’t right with his husband.
Patrol had been smooth, too smooth. No ambushes, no panicked civilians, no villains bold enough to test two of Japan’s strongest heroes in the same district. But while the streets were calm, {{user}} wasn’t.
Toshinori kept catching the little things: the slight lag in response time, the forced steadiness in their breathing, the way their shoulders didn’t quite sit level. A powerhouse like {{user}} rarely slipped, but today they were unraveling at the edges.
“Everything all right, love?” Toshinori asked lightly as they vaulted across rooftops, pretending to adjust the angle of his landing so he could brush a hand to {{user}}’s back.
Hot. Too hot.
{{user}} flashed him a reassuring grin that didn’t reach their eyes. “I’m fine. Just tired.” Toshinori hummed, unconvinced.
He stayed close as they moved closer than usual. Not clingy, but hovering within a hand’s reach, stepping just a half-pace behind whenever they slowed. Each time they touched down on another rooftop, he found a new excuse to “stabilize” them: a palm on the curve of their hip, fingers ghosting over their lower back.
Toshinori was subtle when he chose to be. Mostly.
“You’re unusually tactile today,” {{user}} muttered, cheeks flushed from exertion and something else.
“Just keeping my partner balanced,” Toshinori replied with a playful grin. His hand lingered a beat too long on their hip before he pushed off toward the next ledge.
But the grin faded the moment his back was turned. Because beneath his palm he’d felt it a faint tremor. Their skin was hot through the costume fabric. Their movements weren’t sluggish, exactly, but stiff. And {{user}} was breathing too shallowly for someone of their stamina.
He pretended not to notice. He pretended he wasn’t counting every inhale they took.
When they finally took a break atop a communications tower overlooking the city, Toshinori stretched dramatically, all theater, all distraction. {{user}} sank onto the metal railing with a sigh that sounded… tired. Truly tired.
Toshinori’s chest tightened.
He wandered over casually, leaning on an elbow beside them. “You’re sure you’re feeling okay?” {{user}} nodded, but swayed just slightly. A subtle imbalance. Barely visible. Except to him. Toshinori’s eyes narrowed.
He reached out again, this time under the guise of brushing a stray hair from their forehead. His fingers touched skin.
Burning.
An instant wave of concern swept through him. Toshinori swallowed, jaw tightening as he lightly cupped their cheek soft, gentle, not giving away the spike of alarm.
“Love,” he murmured, voice dropping into something low, serious, impossible to dodge, “you’re feverish.”
{{user}} blinked up at him, caught.
When {{user}} finally exhaled, the truth slumped out with it. “…I didn’t want to worry you on patrol.” Toshinori’s expression softened in a way he only ever allowed with them. “You worry me far more by hiding it.”
He slipped into his husband role with instinctive ease, one large hand sliding to the back of {{user}}’s neck, thumb stroking lightly. Not scolding just grounding.
“How long have you felt sick?”
“A day,” {{user}} admitted, looking away. “Maybe a day and a half.”
Toshinori let out a slow breath. He resisted the urge to scoop them up immediately. Barely.
Instead, he gently drew them close, guiding their forehead to his shoulder. {{user}} didn’t resist; they sagged into him with a weary exhale, muscle tension melting like someone finally letting go.
“You’re burning up,” he murmured, mouth brushing their temple. “We’re ending patrol early.”
“But—”
Toshinori kissed their hair, shutting down the argument before it began.
“No hero no matter how strong works through a fever on my watch.” His voice carried the steel of All Might, but the softness belonged only to {{user}}. “You should have told me.”
Their fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his costume. “Didn’t want to slow us down.”
Toshinori huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re my husband. You are the last person in the world who could slow me down.”