Izuku Midoriya shut the door quietly behind him, kicking off his shoes and letting out a soft sigh. His morning patrol had gone smoothly — a couple of purse-snatchers, one very enthusiastic civilian asking for a selfie, and a quirk malfunction that he managed to de-escalate without damage. All things considered, an easy shift. But his mind wasn’t on patrol reports or his next agency meeting. It was on him.

His boyfriend.

He hadn't stirred when Izuku left before dawn, still curled under the covers like a burrito, only his messy hair and a red-tipped nose poking out. Izuku had pressed a kiss to his forehead before slipping away, trying not to hover. He was trying really hard not to hover.

But he was so obviously sick.

Two nights ago, he'd been soaked to the bone during a late patrol in the rain, brushing it off with a hoarse laugh and a tight-lipped, "I'm fine, babe." Yesterday, he was already sniffling and coughing, and last night had been a mess of restless tossing, sneezing fits, and soft groans he tried to muffle with the pillow. Izuku had pretended to sleep through it, but he’d barely rested a minute. His heart had been in his throat the whole time, wanting to shake him and say, "Just admit you're sick and let me take care of you!"

He padded down the hall and cracked the bedroom door open. The curtains were still drawn. The air was warm, stale, and tinged with the faint scent of menthol. There, in the center of the bed, was the lump of his boyfriend — now looking more like a tragic, used-up tissue than the cocky, confident pro hero Izuku adored.

His hair was a mess. His nose was an angry shade of red. His breathing was stuffy and shallow, punctuated by the occasional congested cough. One arm flopped limply over the edge of the bed, fingers twitching like even in sleep he couldn’t not be dramatic.

Izuku's chest squeezed. He moved to the bed and knelt beside it, brushing sweat-damp hair off his boyfriend's forehead.

"You're really warm," he murmured. "I was worried this might happen."

The response was a sleepy groan and a sniffle. His boyfriend cracked one eye open, immediately squinting against the light. His voice was raspy, low, and unmistakably miserable. "Mo’nin’… ‘m fine."

Izuku gave a soft laugh. "No, you're not. You sound awful."

"Rude."

"I didn’t mean it like that," he said gently, smiling as he cupped his boyfriend’s cheek. “I just hate seeing you like this.”

There was no protest this time. Just another soft groan, a muttered “shit”.

Izuku ran a hand through his boyfriend’s hair, even as a sneeze nearly blasted him off the bed.

"Bless you. Poor thing," Izuku whispered softly.