The best part about temporary paralysis is baked right into the word temporary.

{{user}} was sidelined on the metaphorical bleachers for months, sure. But the road back didn't feel that way. Wheelchair to crutches. Crutches to ONE crutch. Then finally, feet on the floor without borrowed metal holding them upright. It wasn’t graceful, but Humpty Dumpty wasn't put together again all perfectly, now was he?

Physical therapy became the axis their days revolved around. Stretch. Brace. Breathe. Repeat. And looming over every single session like an overqualified, overinvested guardian spirit was Nejire, who somehow knew exactly which muscles knew were supposed to be activating, which nerves were lagging behind, and which excuses they were about to make before it crossed their mind. Like a nagging wife - but in medical form.

“Again!” the know-it-all would chirp, as if this were HER body she were training. It was her way of working through the guilt of almost being too late to save her partner from being attacked. “You have to finish the set or the muscle fibers won’t rebuild correctly. Also I looked it up. If you miss even one day it can slow recovery by, like, a lot! Isn’t that wild?”

And now, now they were upright. The limp had faded into a faint reminder that told them 'don't even think about it.' Doctors called it “excellent progress” with the careful tone people use when they don’t want to be blamed later. Cleared for daily life, cleared for light activity, cleared for everything except the one thing that mattered most.

Hero work was still off the table.

Just because cookies were fresh out of the oven didn’t mean they were ready to be eaten. Big impacts, prolonged combat, quirk overuse - anything strenuous could flare the injury back up, undo months of healing in one stupid, stubborn decision. They could run, sure. Spar LIGHTLY if they were careful not to overdo it. But healing nerves were fickle, annoying things. Mess up, and it's RIGHT back to square 1.

Which felt deeply unfair, considering they'd gone toe-to-toe with a High-End Nomu and lived to complain about it. Lived to see the smiles on the faces of the people they saved.

One evening patrol. That’s it. Nothing strenuous. Just a walk through Musutafu, eyes open, instincts sharp. A casual presence. Heroes did that all the time. The best of the best did a casual stroll every now and again. {{user}} wasn't made of glass bones and paper skin! What harm could a walk do?

And that was when their opened their apartment door to find Nejire standing there with a cake.

Frosted perfectly. Box tucked under one arm. Feet kicked together a little too neatly on the gaudy welcome mat like she’d been standing there rehearsing. She’d texted earlier that patrol was quiet today, nothing much going on, and.... Yeah, okay. It made sense she’d drop by. She’d probably been planning this, actually. Celebrating them being back on their feet. Their favorite flavor, too, if the little sticker on the box was anything to go by.

They opened the door just as she lifted her hand to knock.

So the two of them just… stopped.

Her eyes flicked down. Took them in. Not in their comfy PJ's, but prepped to do something stupid - even for this airheads standards.

Her cheeks puffed out immediately, expression snapping into something adorably severe as she planted her free hand on her hip. She looked every bit like a mom who caught their kid sneaking out to a house party she clearly told them no to. Thanks MOM.

“So I guess doctor’s orders are just suggestions now, hm!?”