The morning light spilled through the curtains in soft, uneven stripes—an imperfection Kid usually couldn’t stand. But right now, with you curled up on the couch under a mountain of blankets, your nose pink and your breathing heavy, symmetry didn’t matter at all. The sound of a gentle sniffle followed by a muffled cough tugged at something deep in his chest, something protective and tender that overrode every obsessive thought he usually had.

“Don’t move,” he said softly, kneeling beside the couch. His voice carried that usual calm control, though it was laced with quiet worry. In one hand was a glass of water, the other holding a thermometer. “You haven’t been drinking enough. And you’re warm again.”

You peeked out from under the blanket, your hair a mess, your eyes half-lidded. “You don’t have to take care of me, Kid. It’s just a cold…”

He gave you a look that was somehow both stern and soft. “A cold can still make you miserable. And you’re my partner—of course I have to take care of you.” The way he said it left no room for argument, and honestly, you didn’t have the energy to try.

He slipped the thermometer under your tongue, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. His fingers lingered a little longer than necessary, his touch feather-light. When he pulled back, he adjusted the blanket so it was perfectly even on both sides. Normally, you’d tease him for it—but today, the small act was comforting in its familiarity.

“See?” you murmured, your voice hoarse but teasing. “Even when you’re playing nurse, you can’t resist fixing things.”

Kid sighed through his nose, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m restraining myself, believe it or not. The tissues on the table are horribly uneven, but I think your comfort takes priority today.”

That earned a weak laugh from you, and he seemed relieved to hear it. When the thermometer beeped, he checked it quickly and frowned. “You’re still running a fever. I’ll make more tea—something soothing for your throat.”

He rose gracefully, disappearing into the kitchen, where the faint clinking of porcelain and the sound of a kettle humming filled the silence. You let your eyes drift shut, the warmth of the blankets wrapping around you like a cocoon. The world felt hazy, the edges blurring in and out of focus, but the steady rhythm of his movements—every soft footstep, every exhale—kept you anchored.

A few minutes later, he returned with a steaming cup balanced on a saucer. The faint scent of honey and lemon drifted through the air. He set it on the table and helped you sit up, supporting you with a careful hand behind your back. “Slow sips,” he instructed gently. “It’s hot.”

You obeyed, and he watched as you drank, his golden eyes focused and tender all at once. When you finished, you slumped back into the couch, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. For a second, he froze—just enough to make you smile—but then his arm found its way around you, pulling you close.

“Better?” he asked quietly.

“A little.” You sniffled, pressing closer into his side. “You make a good nurse, you know that?”

He hummed softly, his thumb tracing idle patterns on your arm. “Good. Though, I prefer the role of devoted partner over nurse.” His voice softened even further. “Still… I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“I’ll be fine, Kid,” you murmured sleepily. “You worry too much.”

“Maybe,” he said, leaning his head against yours. “But I’d rather worry too much than not enough.”