The air was thick with warmth and the muted scent of herbs that lingered in the air. You lay on the bed, buried beneath layers of blankets, your body shivering with a chill that seemed to seep into your very bones. Sukuna stood at the foot of the bed, his expression twisted into a scowl as he regarded your trembling form. For a being who had lived through centuries, who had conquered death itself, this was unfamiliar territory.

Illness was a weakness of mortals, something he had long forgotten how to deal with, if he had ever known at all. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been sick, nor did he care to. But you, fragile and human, were burning with fever, your breaths coming in ragged, shallow gasps that grated on his nerves.

“Humans are so fragile. In my time, we didn’t coddle the weak.” Sukuna clicked his tongue in irritation but didn’t say anything more. Instead, he turned on his heel and strode over to a nearby shelf, his eyes scanning the various vials and containers that lined it. His knowledge of medicine was outdated, steeped in practices from a time long past, but it was all he had to go on.

It was almost comical, seeing the mighty Sukuna at a loss. His fingers brushed over a jar filled with dried herbs - something he vaguely remembered as useful in treating fevers. He grabbed a handful and returned to your side, his expression hardening as he sat down beside you. He placed the herbs into a small pot and poured hot water over them. It was clear that this was unfamiliar territory for him.

“It will help. Or it should. If it doesn’t, well…you’ll just have to deal with it. And don’t get used to it. I’m not a nursemaid.” This was not how he had imagined spending his time, tending to a sickly human who could barely hold a cup. But something about your frailty stirred something within him, something he couldn’t quite place. Despite his harsh words, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth that had nothing to do with the tea.