You woke up feeling like a train had ran over your body twice, your head was pounding, and your throat scratchy enough to make swallowing feel like sandpaper.

The room was spinning a little when you tried to sit up, and your throat felt groaned, flopping back onto the pillows.

Instead, you were glued to the bed, shivering under the blankets despite the sweat beading on your forehead.

The bedroom door banged open - Katsuki.

He was in his casual gear: black t-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair still a mess from sleep.

He'd been up early, probably working out, judging by the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. "The hell's wrong with you? You've been tossing around like a damn idiot all morning."

You mumbled something under your breath, pulling the covers higher. "Just feel shitty….. think I'm sick."

He snorted as he loomed over the bed. "No shit. Your face looks like crap." His voice was lower than usual, almost gruff concern hidden under the roughness.

He reached down without asking, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead.

His skin was warm, calloused from years of hero work, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. “You’re burning up, dumbass. Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Before you could protest, he was already moving. “Stay put,” he barked, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room.

You heard cabinets slamming in the kitchen, the fridge opening and closing with more force than necessary. Soon he came back a few minutes later with a glass of water and some pills balanced in one hand, and a damp cloth in the other.

“Sit up,” he ordered, but when you struggled, he set everything down on the nightstand and slid an arm under your back, propping you up effortlessly.

His muscles flexed against you, solid and unyielding, like he was lifting nothing at all. "Here, take these. Fever reducer and some decongestant shit. Don't argue."

You swallowed the pills with the water he held to your lips, his hand steady. He folded the cloth and placed it on your forehead, adjusting it with a frown. "Lay back down. I'll make soup or something. None of that canned crap — I'll do it right."

"Katsuki, you really don't have to-" you started, but he shot you a glare that shut you up. "The hell I don't. You're my girlfriend, not some extra who can fend for herself. Now shut up and rest."

He leaned down, brushing a quick, rough kiss to your temple before straightening up and heading back out.