“I think I’m dying.”
Katsuki looks over at Shouto, standing in the doorway of their kitchen, giving his best overly dramatic announcement.
And still, people tell Katsuki that overdramatics are his thing. They’d keep their damn mouths shut if they ever had to live with Todoroki Shouto and witness him bear the burden of any minor inconvenience.
Usually mornings are pretty quiet. Shouto has this remarkable ability to be able to sleep for much longer than a human normally should, sleep through just about anything. Katsuki’s certain if Shouto did not have an alarm or even Katsuki to wake him up, he could sleep forever. It’s almost as if it’s Newton’s first law of physics, except for Shouto’s sleeping habits: he will remain at rest indefinitely until another force wakes him up.
He hasn’t really tested this theory, but Katsuki also doesn’t have the patience for his partner’s laziness.
Having said that, it is very strange that he is up this early, saying nonsense.
“We can only hope,” Katsuki retorts, turning his attention back to his phone, scrolling through the morning news as he takes a sip of coffee.
“I’m serious,” Shouto grumbles, taking a seat next to Katsuki at the counter bar. “Everything aches and my throat hurts so much it woke me up.”
He does sound a little more nasally, his voice rough around the edges. Katsuki notices the dark circles under his eyes, his complexion a sickly sort of pale as opposed to the nice porcelain it usually is.
“I told you not to push yourself,” Katsuki says, getting up from the bar to fill the kettle with water. Figures. Of course Shouto would think he’s fucking dying when he’s just sick.
Though it is true that Shouto normally does not get sick. Katsuki can’t recall a single time when Shouto has ever been sick in their seven years of whatever romantic mess they’re involved in.
It’s a little unfair.
It’s more unfair that he acts like a complete brat about it all with only Katsuki to deal with it.
“Like you’re one to talk,” Shouto responds, watching Katsuki as he digs through the cabinets to find tea. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Go back to bed.”
Shouto does not move. “I have patrol soon.”
“Fuck that,” Katsuki says, putting the kettle down on the stove with more force than necessary before the clicking of the stove is heard, igniting fire under the kettle. Why does this idiot always argue with him when he’s always right? “You’re staying home.”
“I can’t,” Shouto responds, sniffling, rubbing snot off with the sleeve of his shirt. Katsuki’s nose wrinkles. He needs to remember to wash their bedding later today. Also maybe get tissues.
“You think you can work like this , you idiot?” Katsuki asks, brushing back Shouto’s hair from his face, the strands a little moist from sweat caused by too hot skin. “You’re not dying. You just have a fucking cold.”
That’s impossible. I never get sick. I’m definitely dying.”
“And yet, you wanna go on patrol?”
“I have a job to do. A hero protects people with their life, so it’s my duty,” Shouto says seriously, though the stopped up, nasally edge to his voice makes the statement almost comical.
Katsuki lets out a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes. “Stop being a fucking baby and go back to bed—”
“I have work—”
“ You can’t do shit if you can’t even breathe right . Go the fuck to bed. I’m making you tea.”
Shouto opens his mouth to protest.
“Shut up. Call your shitty agency. I’ll get you fucking tissues and medicine so you stop whining.”
Shouto worries his bottom lip in consideration, looking at the floor as if it’ll reveal all of the answers he needs. “Okay,” he finally says after a moment, nodding. “Fine.”
“God, I gotta do fuckin’ everything around here,” Katsuki mutters, removing the whistling kettle from the stove. He prepares ginger tea for Shouto, restraining from shoving the mug into his hands and pushing him into the bedroom if it weren’t for the fact that the mug is full of boiling hot water.
“Thank you, Katsuki,” Shouto says, holding the mug, his face coming so close to Katsuki’s—
“Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare,” Katsuki warns, grabbing Shouto’s jaw with one hand, preventing him from going for the habitual kiss he usually lays on Katsuki. “I’m not catching your garbage.”
After some bickering and threats, Katsuki manages to convince Shouto to go to bed with his tea before Katsuki wins The-Best-Partner-in-the-Fucking-World award for going out on his day off to retrieve tissues, more ginger tea, and medicine.
Shouto appears to be asleep when he returns, to Katsuki’s relief. As quietly as he can, he places the tissues and medicine on Shouto’s nightstand. He feels a hand reaching for his fingers, a thumb brushing across the top of his hand.
“Lie with me?” Shouto asks quietly, clearly not asleep. Probably waiting for Katsuki to get back. What a pain.
It’s probably a bad idea. While Katuski’s immune system is as top notch as his hero ranking, he knows he’s playing with fire by cuddling up next to this sack of germs.
But the sack of germs has a slight pout, keeps sniffling pathetically, has the saddest eyes begging for some kind of comfort in his moment of weakness. His normally well-groomed hair is tousled. It’s cute.
A stupid, gross cute sack of germs that doesn’t even know what the fuck a cold is.
“If I get sick because of you, then you’ll really be dying,” Katsuki threatens before crawling over Shouto to his usual side of the bed. No surprise Shouto clings onto Katsuki as soon as he settles in like the clingy koala he is, cheek resting on his shoulder, arm slung across Katsuki’s chest.
“How do people do this?”
“They shut up and go to sleep,” Katsuki responds, his fingers carding through Shouto’s hair.
“Oh. I’m good at sleeping.”