The morning light filters through the curtains as you shuffle down the stairs, still groggy from the lingering fatigue that’s been weighing you down for days. Your stomach twists—whether from hunger or the nausea that’s been plaguing you, you’re not sure.

As you step into the kitchen, the scent of miso soup and something sizzling in a pan greets you. Then, you see him—Naruto, standing by the stove, shirtless except for a slightly-too-small cooking apron tied around his waist. His blond hair is a mess, strands sticking up in every direction, and he’s humming softly as he flips an omelet.

“Oh! You’re up!” He turns with a grin, whisk still in hand. “Figured I’d make you somethin’ good since you’ve been feelin’ off.” His blue eyes soften as they scan you, concern evident even through his usual brightness.

You lean against the counter, watching him work, the sight of his broad back and toned arms distracting you more than you’d like to admit. Maybe being sick isn’t so bad if it means getting treated like this.