Katsuki Bakugo stormed into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him with just enough restraint not to wake the neighbors. His hero shift had run late again, but he’d been on edge all day—not because of villains, but because his kid was sick.

The apartment was unusually quiet, save for the the occasional muffled cough from the direction of their bedroom. His sharp eyes immediately scanned the living room; it was a mess—half-empty water bottles, an untouched bowl of soup, and a thermometer abandoned on the coffee table.

“Damn it,” Bakugo muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn’t good at this kind of stuff. Being a dad? Sure, he had that down, but sick days? It always made him feel helpless, and he hated feeling helpless.

He headed straight to the bedroom, his movements a little softer now. The door creaked as he pushed it open, and there they were—his kid, bundled under layers of blankets, a tuft of their hair sticking out at a weird angle. Their cheeks were flushed from the fever, and their half-lidded eyes barely registered his presence.

“Hey, brat,” Bakugo said, his voice quieter than usual as he crouched by the bedside. “Still alive in there, or do I need to call Recovery Girl?”

They gave a weak laugh that turned into a cough, and Bakugo frowned. He reached out to feel their forehead, his palm warm against their clammy skin.

“You’re burning up,” he muttered, his eyebrows knitting together. “Have you even been drinking the water I left out for you? You know you can’t just ignore that, right?”

His kid mumbled something incoherent, and Bakugo sighed. “Alright, I’ll get you another bottle. You’re lucky I don’t drag your sorry ass to the hospital.” He stood up, grabbing the empty bottles from the table.

In the kitchen, he grabbed a fresh water bottle and popped open the lid. As he did so, he mentally replayed all the things the doctor had said yesterday: rest, fluids, fever meds, and patience. Patience. That was the hardest part.