Kuroo hated being sick. Not because he felt awful—though, yeah, he definitely felt awful—but because it meant you got that smug little I told you so look every time you checked his temperature.

"You’re sweating through your shirt," you said, arms crossed.

"It’s called thermoregulation," he muttered, voice rough. "Ever heard of it?"

Your unimpressed stare burned hotter than his fever. Then your hand was on his forehead, cool against his skin. His brain short-circuited for a second.

"Wow," he drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You really can’t keep your hands off me, huh?"

Your sigh was half exasperation, half fond. Then you shoved a thermometer in his mouth. He’d never actually admit to feeling like crap, not to you at least.