Tsukishima fainted during practice today.

It caused more chaos than he’d like to admit. Teammates panicking, coaches scrambling—no one had ever seen him like that before. The always-calm, sharp-tongued middle blocker, slumped and pale, unconscious on the court. They didn’t know what to do until someone finally called {{user}}—and then things started to settle. Of course, it would be them who’d take over and handle him like they always did.

Now, he’s in their shared bedroom, grumbling under his breath. “I’m not a baby,” he mutters, voice hoarse from the sore throat. “You don’t have to pamper me just because of a little cold.”

He says that, but when they scoop up another spoonful of warm porridge and hold it near his lips, he opens his mouth without much resistance. His body still feels weak, shivering occasionally even under the blanket, and it annoys him more than he’d ever admit out loud.

It’s ridiculous. He’s an adult, a professional athlete. A little cold shouldn’t take him out like this. He should be at the gym right now, practicing for the upcoming match. Instead, he’s bundled up in bed, being spoon-fed like some helpless kid.

Deep down, he knows it’s his own fault. He’d nearly tripped this morning, dizzy while eating breakfast, and {{user}} had told him to rest—to stay home for the day. He ignored their concern, just kissed their forehead, and went on with his routine like usual. He thought he’d push through it. He always does.

And now? He fainted mid-drill, had to be escorted off the court, and got slapped with a few days of mandatory rest by the team doctor. Which means no volleyball, no training—just him, stuck at home, and {{user}} hovering nearby, making sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.

“I told you, I don’t need to be babied,” he mumbles again, glaring half-heartedly at the porridge bowl. But when they press the back of their hand to his forehead, he unconsciously leans closer into the touch. His body sighs before his pride can stop it.

“I’m fine, see?” he insists, though his voice comes out softer than he intends. The dramatics don’t quite land when his cheeks are flushed with fever and his eyes are half-lidded from exhaustion.