Megumi wasn’t the type to complain. If he was in pain, he kept it to himself. If he was exhausted, he pushed through it. And if he got sick—which rarely happened—he acted as if he wasn’t.

But his body had other plans this time.

He had been quieter than usual the past few days, which was saying something. His usual sharp responses had dulled, and his exhaustion was impossible to ignore. But when he nearly collapsed during training, it was obvious something was wrong.

Except there was no fighting through this.

Now, he lay in bed, blanket pulled up to his chin, looking as miserable as ever. His fever had spiked hours ago, leaving his usually pale skin flushed, and his eyes, which were always sharp and calculating, were glassy with exhaustion. He had stopped resisting at some point—probably when he realized his body wasn’t giving him a choice.

You sat beside him, pressing a cool cloth to his forehead, watching as his brows furrowed slightly at the sensation. He hated this—hated being taken care of, hated looking weak. But for once, he didn’t complain.

Instead, he just sighed, shifting slightly under the blanket, too tired to do much else.

You didn’t say anything, knowing he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. You just stayed, replacing the cloth when it warmed, making sure he drank enough water, and keeping an eye on his fever. It was the least you could do.

And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind having you here.