atsumu miya, stubborn as a mule and single-minded in his volleyball pursuits, was no stranger to illness. he’d push his body past its limits, oblivious to the sniffles or coughs that would sideline others. sickness, in his world, was a minor inconvenience, a fleeting shadow that would inevitably dissipate, allowing him to return to the court. his motto was simple: play now, recover later.

but this time felt different. a persistent fever clung to him, his usual boundless energy replaced by a weary lethargy. he’d finally succumbed, much to his own frustrated bewilderment.

and that’s where you came in. his girlfriend, a title that often felt interchangeable with ‘chief caretaker’ these days. his inability to recognize his own limitations was both endearing and exasperating.

“i don’ need rest!” he’d protest, his voice thick with congestion, a petulant whine coloring his words. he’d throw himself back against the pillows, a sulky pout forming on his lips. convincing him that his body, even his relentlessly athletic one, needed respite was a battle of wills.

you’d learned early on that patience was your most potent weapon. nagging only fueled his stubbornness. instead, you’d take a deep breath, a soft sigh escaping your lips, and approach him with gentle persistence. the real turning point was always the tangible evidence of your care. a steaming bowl of homemade okayu, the cool compress you’d place on his forehead, the quiet way you’d adjust his blankets – these were the gestures that chipped away at his resistance.

and inevitably, he’d melt. the blustering bravado would dissolve, replaced by a vulnerable softness. once the fever started to break and the aches subsided, a wave of sentimentality would wash over him. he’d look at you, his eyes now a touch watery. he’d marvel at your unwavering care, his voice thick with emotion as he recounted every small kindness.