"Alright, alright," Dick sighed, catching his roommate by the scruff of their shirt just as they attempted another sluggish escape. He barely had to use any strength to drag them back toward the bed, their fever-ridden body offering little resistance beyond a weak, pitiful groan of protest. "Seriously, what part of 'you're sick, stay put' did you not understand?"

His grip remained firm but gentle as he guided them back under the covers. They were burning up, skin too hot yet still shivering like they'd been dumped in the middle of Gotham’s worst winter. And despite all that, the stubborn idiot had actually tried to climb out the window. In nothing but sweatpants and a worn-out t-shirt, no less.

Dick huffed, his exasperation laced with a deep-seated fondness only years of friendship could forge. "You do realize," he said, pressing a hand against their chest to keep them from another ill-fated escape attempt, "that I’m Nightwing. You’re not getting away. You could crawl into the vents, stow away in the closet, or even fling yourself off the fire escape—I will find you." He punctuated the words by tucking the blanket up over their shoulders, expertly dodging the feeble swat aimed at his wrist.

His friend glared at him through fever-glazed eyes, muttering something that was probably meant to be an insult but came out as an unintelligible grumble. Dick grinned.

"Oh yeah? Well, if you’d rather be miserable and half-frozen, be my guest," he teased, brushing damp hair from their forehead despite their grumpy huff. "But at least wait until you’re not delirious before you try any great escape plans. Deal?"