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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 3 months

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ask me to leave and i’ll stay forever ; satoru gojo

synopsis; satoru is stubborn; even when plagued by such a high fever, he insists there’s no need to take care of him. thankfully, you’re equally as stubborn.

word count; 10.8k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, implied non-sorcerer!reader, sickfic, reverse comfort, sickening amounts of fluff, lots of petnames, satoru gojo vs the mortifying ordeal of being loved, just a tinyyyy bit of angst if u rlly squint, literally just satoru being pampered for like 10k words straight, he’s cute when he’s sick but still manages to be a lil shit <33, he’s also a huge sap you have been warned!!

a/n; what can i say, im a proud member of the ”satoru gojo needs to be babied relentlessly” club <33 he’s just a little guy!! tagging @catchuuu my beloved for being the sweetest enjoy a healthy dose of sick sleepy satoru <33 i am tagging all toru enjoyers in spirit btw i love u all

you’ve never seen satoru like this before.

head buried into a big pillow, white locks tousled and sticking to his forehead — skin sweaty, hot to the touch, with a flushed face to match. heavy breaths fall from his parted lips, blinking in and out of consciousness, squeezing his eyes shut.

it’s nothing like the joyous, loud, cocky satoru you’re so used to. he’s weak. he’s fatigued.

he’s completely, undoubtedly sick.

”really, baby,” he slurs, raspy and dry. still attempting to raise himself up, arms straining under the weight of his shivering body. ”there’s no need f’ —”

unceremoniously, his limbs give out beneath him, and he tumbles right back down; a meek little wince escaping his throat as his face falls back into the mattress. the sound makes your heart squeeze tightly in your chest.

”ah. that’s…” he tries to speak, a disgruntled hum muffled by the sheets. ”… annoying.”

satoru sounds frustrated. you can tell he’s resisting the urge to close his eyes, a little helpless, unable to even move properly, like a fish out of water. he’s still breathing unevenly, still sweating, still burning up — you can practically feel it, from where you’re standing, crouched down by his bed.

you’ve never, ever seen satoru like this. you’ve seen him sniffling during flu season, wrecked with headaches during rainy season. you’ve seen him vulnerable; not many times, but enough that it matters.

but you’ve never seen him like this.

(and it makes you terribly anxious.)

”satoru, please just —” you croak, gnawing at your bottom lip. trying desperately to swallow the worry in your chest. ”don’t overdo it. please?”

you can hear the anxious little timbre of your own voice, and you can feel the frown tugging at your lips. but you can’t do anything to quell the insistent pitter patter of your heartbeat, the ache that accompanies it. satoru’s lying down, still trying to gather the strength to reassure you, even through the feverish haze clouding his mind.

he looks so small.

this wasn’t what you were expecting to see, today. you were expecting to meet up with satoru, and see his happy little grin, those tiny dimples and freckles that only show themselves in the light of the sun. you were expecting to feel the weight of his hand in yours, as you strolled down to the new crêpe stand he’s been wanting to check out since he first found their instagram account.

you were expecting to see him happy. healthy. a little obnoxious, a little annoying — but hopelessly sweet. all the love you could ever need, molded into a human shape. your little angel.

a sigh slips from your lips. you can’t help it; because satoru is just so stubborn, so closed off, and he can be such an idiot sometimes. you knew something was off the moment he sent you that text, asking you oh so charmingly, apologetically, if you could postpone your date for just an hour or so. you knew something was wrong, but he still wouldn’t let up until you brought out the 🥺 emojis.

and then he told you he was fine. it’s all he ever is, apparently.

my throat’s just a little scratchy, is all. wouldn’t want you to miss out on the voice you love so much, yeah?

give me an hour and i’ll be perfect for you. <3

moron.

he’s curled up in a fetal position, trying to stop himself from shivering, muttering little reassurances under his breath that you can’t make out. wearing ripped jeans and a nice jacket, like he was fully prepared to head out like this — like he genuinely thought an hour, some painkillers and a dream would be enough to chase away a fever this severe. like he was so desperate to see you he was fully willing to take that risk.

moron. moron. he should’ve called you the moment he realized he was sick. instead, you had to coax him into letting you come over, with a flurry of sad and cute emojis you know make him go weak at the knees when they’re coming from you.

and here you are. in satoru’s house, in front of his bed, trying to convince him that he is, in fact, sick.

but he just won’t listen.

”just — gimme a couple minutes, honey?” your boyfriend mumbles, barely coherent, stringing words together haphazardly. awfully dizzy. ”i just need the painkillers to kick in, i promise i —”

”satoru.”

there’s a sad tint to your voice, now. unmistakable. one that satoru notices, even through the feverish, muddy filter over his reality.

and it makes him quiet down.

(he doesn’t want to disappoint you.)

as gently as you can, you settle down on the bed, eyes painfully softened. overflowing with care. towering over him, leaning close — to press your lips against his scorching forehead, brushing away his sweaty bangs with a palpable tenderness. your voice soothing, coming out almost as a low coo. you’re frustrated, and exasperated.

but most of all, you’re worried.

”go back to sleep,” you hum, a gentle command. your hand finds his, cold skin meeting warm, tracing circles over his palm. ”i’ll take care of you.”

”there’s no need,” he mutters, instantaneous. so used to denying kindness.

but he curls an arm around your waist, anyway, tugging you closer; a little needy. like you’re much too far away for his liking. finally beginning to settle down, coaxed into resting by the soft touches your grace him with. it’s only a matter of time.

so you keep your lips against his forehead, cradling his slender fingers in yours, murmuring little whispered reassurances. and before you know it, his lashes have fluttered shut, like a white dove landing on the ground. he still looks so troubled, so meek. you can’t resist the urge to soothe him, hand cupping his face, thumb smoothing over the apple of his cheek. you watch him lean into it, eyes dripping with care. your poor baby.

for a couple precious moments, you allow yourself to indulge in the sight. even like this, he looks a bit like an angel, a painting come to life. like one wrong brushstroke could smudge him.

so you’re delicate, as you trace little hearts into his skin, delicate as you maneuver his body enough to peel the layers of clothing off him — leaving him in only an oversized tee and a pair of briefs. satoru can only whine, softly, so quiet you barely even hear him. so disoriented, on the brink of falling into a deep slumber. some part of him is trying to resist, you’re sure, still agonizing over the date he’s missing out on. as if anything matters more than his health.

but it doesn’t work. he can only let out a tiny groan, hopelessly pliant as you tuck him in, pulling a big blanket over his shoulders. you card through his hair, another soft kiss planted on his sweaty forehead — and your hand stays between his locks until you’re sure he’s asleep. his breathing mellows out, his grip around your waist loosens, seeking comfort from you even in his dreams.

you’d crawl under the blankets with him, but you have work to do.

stealing one final glance at your fever-ridden lover, your heartbeat ricochets. he still looks so meek, all warm and sweaty, shirt sticking to his skin. a frown tugs at your bottom lip.

satoru is always so stubborn, refusing to lean on others for support. you wish he had called you immediately, nagged at you to come baby him. sure, you might’ve sighed in faux exasperation, and teased him a little, but it still would’ve made you feel happy. useful. and you would’ve done it in a heartbeat. maybe, if you just prove that you can take care of him properly, he’ll do it next time.

so you stand up, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead one last time, and make your way towards the kitchen.

satoru’s house is spacious. a little too spacious, enough for at least three people to live in comfortably; nice furniture, an expensive sofa in the living room, a large tv you’re almost certain he only keeps around for white noise. such are the ways of the rich, you suppose. he doesn’t invite you over very often, so you’ve never had the chance to get very affiliated with the space. it’s always the other way around — him, waiting for you on the couch when you get home, chirping out an unconvincing don’t even worry about it, baby! when you ask how he got in without a key. or him, showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, filling the sleepy silence with jokes to distract you from the bags under his eyes.

(he likes it when you cling to him in your sleep — he sleeps a lot better that way. that’s what he told you, at least, when you brought him coffee in bed that one time. a little glimmer of honesty.)

he stays over so often he might as well just move in, but you aren’t really sure how to even approach that subject. some part of you fears it’d be too much, too intimate, that he’d pack his bags and run away. bringing all his secrets with him, that soft laughter you’ve grown so fond of. so you figure it’s better to let him make a home out of yours, let him curl up on your couch and snack on the candy you hid in your kitchen cabinets. that’s safe for him.

and now that you’ve seen his home up close — if you can even call it that — you think you’re starting to understand his preference. because it’s spacious, yes, but also empty. save for expensive furniture and fake houseplants, there isn’t anything to indicate that the apartment belongs to him, that he feels comfortable there. like he hasn’t even bothered to make it his. like it’s about to be sold, and you’re just one of the potential buyers, checking the place out. admiring the patterns of the floorboards and the walls.

it doesn’t feel like satoru at all.

his own bedroom was another story, a much more pleasant one. a lot more satoru. filled with little trinkets, key charms and souvenirs and silly figurines. a framed photo of three students by the windowsill, an old uniform hanging by his closet, socks strewn about here and there. a dying houseplant. comic books and movie posters and a ps5 you don’t think he’s touched since he finished spiderman 2. a king sized bed, that makes him look like a spoiled little princess when he’s lying in it, next to a cat plushie you won for him at a fair. knowing he actually sleeps with it kind of makes you want to cry.

there’s this particular scent, too, lingering in the air. mellow, nostalgic, the kind that soothes you with just a whiff; a blend between sunlight, expensive cologne, and something sweet. it clings to all his favorite clothes, to his skin. you’d live in it if you could.

something constricts, inside your chest — like thorny vines strangling your beating heart, pressing down ever so slightly. just thinking about it, about him, about his distressed expression as his head hit the pillow. making your way over to his kitchen, getting yourself affiliated with the space, preparing to make a good soup for his fever. the fridge is almost empty, save for sweets and that one drink you like. the takeout boxes on his kitchen table tells you all you need to know.

it only makes you worry more.

luckily, you were clever enough to buy your own ingredients on the way here. chop, chop, into tiny little pieces. chicken soup should help, shouldn’t it? it’s all you can focus on, all you can hope for. anything is fine; you just want to help him, be of use somehow. he does so much for you.

you just want to give some of it back.

satoru’s loneliness is a subtle thing. flexible, alert, slipping away at the slightest sign of knowing eyes. for someone who’s so often surrounded by people, cracking jokes and laughing louder than anyone else, he doesn’t seem to make any noise when he’s alone. he curls into himself, just a bit, and a kind of reminiscence smooths over the contours of his face.

that’s when you see him. that lonely, lonely guy. resigned to his self-imposed isolation, paradoxically yearning for something more. watching as the cherry trees bloom, like they’ll give him the answers he seeks once they bear fruit.

but the moment you come into view, he smiles. knowing you won’t push it — that you’ll let him take his time. that you’ll let him flee, just a little.

still, you can’t help but wish he’d lean on you a little more. you wish you could chase his loneliness away with a pitchfork, but it’s a fickle creature. you somehow doubt he wants to part with it.

all you can do is love him. love him, love him, and love him some more; until he’s had his fill.

(you’re not sure he ever will. it’s a good thing, a very good thing, because you’re almost certain you’ll never run out.)

and that’s why you’re here. in his ghost of a home, his kitchen, pouring water into a large pot. tender, sprinkling love over every single action, every slice and dice, every piece of chicken and veggies thrown into the boiling water. you try and you try, hoping it’ll reach him.

but before you can make another attempt, something reaches you, instead.

two long arms curl around your waist, suddenly, something warm and soft pressing itself against your back. and you almost flinch, completely caught up in the stirring of the soup, unsure of how much time has passed since you began. it jolts you out of your thoughts.

you know who it is, though. never mind the fact that he’s the only other person in the apartment; you know it’s him by his touch alone, the weight of his arms, that particular scent that surrounds him. like memories of summer.

it’s awfully sweet, the way he clings to you, the soft little blissful sigh that slips from his lips. but before you can feel moved at the domesticity of the gesture, worry clouds your senses. he doesn’t even get the chance to speak.

”satoru —” you place a palm on his forearm, craning your head to look back at him. his forehead rests against your shoulder, and his eyes are closed. he’s still so warm, too warm. ”what are you doing here? you should be resting.”

your boyfriend mumbles something, under his breath, something that your ears can’t quite digest. he shifts, a little, as if getting ready to put on some sort of act — to smile and joke, or laugh and tease you. you can imagine what he’d say if he wasn’t in such a feverish state; he’d hug you from behind, a low purr of what’cha up to? whispered right into your ear. then you’d jolt, and he’d giggle sheepishly, satisfied with the reaction.

but now, all he can do is cough. still leaning against you, gripping onto your midriff a little more desperately than usual. you step away from the stove, turning around, making sure your hands never leave his. looking up at him with concern in your eyes, noticing his little frown.

”c’mon, you need to lie down.” you reach for his cheek, cupping it in your palm, and he practically melts into it. enjoying the chilly sensation to his fever-ridden skin. “the soup’ll be finished soon, okay?”

”… you made,” he tries, syllables falling from his lips haphazardly. ”soup —” a series of coughs. they cut him off, and the worry in your chest only deepens.

“don’t push yourself, okay? you’re really sick, dummy.” satoru pouts, but doesn’t say anything, only clinging to you tighter when you usher him away. “let’s go back to your room, alright?”

but he won’t budge. he’s so sleepy, so sick and delirious, putting all his body weight on you. you try your best not to stumble beneath it.

”honey,” you plead, holding him securely in your embrace. his arms around your waist, your hands on his shoulders. ”work with me, please? just gotta get you back to bed —”

”’s…” he whispers, suddenly, a raspy little thing. scratchy, meek, awfully earnest; you wonder if he’s too sick not to be. ”… too lonely without you.”

a moment passes. your breath hitches pitifully, at the base of your throat.

satoru is hugging you so tightly, as if you could disappear at any moment, slip away if he doesn’t keep you close. he’s holding you as if pleading for comfort, for a touch of safety. as if he needs you. if his meek little admission hadn’t already melted your heart the marrow, that thought certainly would’ve done the job.

taking a moment to collect yourself, you inhale, face surely aflame. satoru just nuzzles into your shoulder, too tired to say anything else, wanting to be close to you. it’s a wonder your knees don’t buckle.

gently, you let your hand trail upwards, palm smoothing down his hair. softly, like he’s a clingy, overgrown cat. ”sorry,” you start, just a little breathless. ”i’ll be with you, okay? won’t leave you alone. i promise.”

there’s an earnesty in your words that you doubt you could ever fake. satoru must hear it too, you think, because he finally begins to work with you. allowing you to stumble towards his bedroom, supporting his weight.

but once you make it to his bed, he still refuses to let go of you.

”toru, gotta go finish that soup. ’n make you some tea.” you rub his back, soothingly, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. shaking his head and emitting a throaty groan, only squeezing you tighter when you try to guide him under the covers. how cruel of him, to act so cute when said soup is most likely boiling over by the stove. ”please, sweetie? it won’t take long. i promise. you can go back to sleep.”

another groggy huff. you’re both still standing by the edge of the bed, and satoru still won’t let you leave. all you can do is sigh, smearing a little kiss against his neck.

he squirms, ever so slightly, and you get an idea.

so you keep pressing little kisses against his skin, knowing just how to make him melt. feeling him relax in your embrace, snuggle into your chest, so pliant that he lets you tuck him in — as long as your lips stay pressed against his jaw. before he can realize what’s happening, you grab hold of the blanket, draping it over him; his half-lidded eyes blinking up at you. you press a final kiss against his forehead, grabbing the cat plushie from the edge of the bed and placing it close enough for satoru to reach if need be.

”i’ll hurry, toru. be a good boy and stay here, alright?”

a teasing lilt sneaks into your voice, coaxed out by how adorable your boyfriend looks like this; baby blue eyes all droopy, snowy hair messy as it falls across the cushion he’s resting on. blinking sluggishly, grunting a little in response.

when you scurry off the bed and make your way towards the door, you glance back at him. he’s still looking in your direction, with half-lidded eyes, and your chest aches. ”i’ll be back soon, baby,” you try to soothe him. “try to sleep.”

this time, you hurry. body working almost on autopilot, images of your boyfriend still tugging at your heartstrings like he’s arranging an orchestra, moving your legs forward. before you know it, you’re walking back, carrying a tray with both your hands. steam wafts up from the hot soup and the warm cup of tea, shaking a little as you walk, a pair of painkillers in your pocket. just in case he needs more. an eager, pulsating joy rushes through your veins — now you can be with him, tend to him, not leave him alone in a room so like him you wish you could stay there forever.

your footsteps are light, almost careful as they cross the threshold. satoru stirs, waiting for you to come to his side, looking like a kicked puppy in his giant bed. he tries to lift himself up, but it looks like it requires an intense amount of focus, like his elbows could buckle any second.

”careful,” you croon, hurrying over, placing the tray on the nightstand. gently pushing him back down on the mattress. he complies almost instantly, too out of it to put up a real fight. staring at you, as if in awe.

to satoru, you appear almost as an angel, a somewhat blurry figure that he recognizes without looking. your very presence is soothing, like a lullaby in human form. with the hazy filter clouding his mind, he can’t even seem to form words correctly — all satoru can focus on is you. your movements, the lilt of your voice, a cold hand dulling the heat of his forehead.

his fever still hasn’t gone down. you try and muster a smile, but you’re sure it must look painfully coated in unease. crouching down, you place your elbows on the bed, your jaw meeting the mattress. you’re at eye level with him, now.

”hey,” you start, low and comforting. you don’t want to be too loud. ”sorry it took so long.”

using what little energy he has left, satoru crosses the distance between you, inching closer and closer. noticing it, you reach a hand out to cup his cheek — lips quick to find his forehead. a barely audible sigh leaves him, and you smile.

”d’you think you can eat?” you whisper, gazing at him fondly. treating him a little like a baby, maybe, but you can’t help it when he’s like this. quiet as a mouse. ”i made soup and tea… sound okay?”

he tries to make a noise. it comes out sounding like a strange blend between a dissatisfied groan and an affirming hum, but he still ends up nodding slightly. you wonder if indulging you is ingrained into his bone structure.

”… okay. think you can sit up, toru?”

once again, your boyfriend only hums — but he does begin to move, trying to hoist himself up, wobbling pitifully. you help, keeping him steady until his spine meets the headboard. slumped against it, he blinks slowly, feverishly.

”thank you.” you press a chaste kiss against his cheek, before reaching for the cup of tea, the scent of chamomile and lavender filling your senses. you blow on it softly. ”here. it should help with your throat, so try to drink a bit, okay? s’ got honey in it.”

silently, he accepts the cup, bringing it to his lips. when he takes a sip, you catch the slightest hint of a grimace on his lips; even with your warning of careful, it’s hot, you think he must have managed to burn his tongue.

satoru keeps his thoughts to himself, not wanting to worry you. but he can’t say bringing himself to drink it is an easy endeavor, with how sweaty it makes him feel, how it forces him to acknowledge how painfully dry his throat is. how he can’t even taste the herbs.

he wants to be good for you, though.

so he gulps it down, slowly, managing to sip almost all of it until you decide to give him a break. compared to this morning, he already feels just a little better, a little less like he’s in a fever dream. you’re sitting by the bedside, so patient, so caring. he can’t take his eyes off you, even now. clearing his throat, attempting to get used to speaking again. ”thanks.”

the mutter sounds strained, but slightly easier on the ears, easier to make out than before. courtesy of the honey, you assume. gosh, you hadn’t realized you’d begun to miss his voice so much.

”no problem,” you hum, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “think you can eat something? or is that too much?”

”’course,” he croaks. there’s a slight sense of liveliness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, but before he can continue, he’s caught off by a small coughing fit. harmless, but sufficient in making you worry.

”no need to force yourself,” you soothe, patting down his head, watching as he quiets down. the tea might’ve given him a temporary energy boost, but you still don’t want him to overdo it. “just relax, satoru.”

he hums, weakly, and you reward him with a light ruffle of his hair. then you direct your attention to the soup on the nightstand, still hot, smelling of vegetable broth and fresh chicken and coriander. you bring the bowl down to your lap, and take a spoonful of the soup, blowing on it like you did with the tea. bringing it towards his lips.

”i dunno if it’ll taste very good,” you admit, scratching absently at the back of your neck. ”but it should help with the fever, at least. i’d be happy if you could eat a bit.”

as his lips make contact with the metal of the spoon, satoru can’t help but let himself be swept away. he still feels a little too hazy, too feverish to really comprehend what’s happening; he feels oddly bare like this, vulnerable, a little afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he doesn’t keep it shut. so he opts to accept the treatment he’s receiving, not putting up a fight or making a fuss. not meeting your expectant eyes.

(he feels a little shy, being spoonfed by you. how very unlike him.)

the soup does feel soothing. he thinks he can even get a sense of the taste, how hard you must’ve worked on it. but more than anything, the way you’re acting is like balm to his soul — looking at him so kindly, treating him so tenderly. offering him spoon after spoon with gentle words of encouragement. being babied in such a way makes him feel so oddly content that he’s almost embarrassed. it should be the other way around.

yet here you are, spoonfeeding him soup that you made yourself, because he’s sick, even though he hates to admit it, and you care about him. he allows the information to linger in the back of his head, for a while, wallowing in the comfort it brings him. fully comprehending it would take too much of a toll on him, in this state.

satoru basks in the intimacy of the situation, and so do you. brushing strands of hair away when they stick to his skin, pressing your lips against his forehead to check his temperature. you keep doing it until satoru’s appetite dwindles.

”alright, that should be fine —” you glance down at the bowl, now roughly half-empty. more than enough, you think. ”uhh… how do you feel?”

”… better,” satoru answers, truthfully, the ghost of a smile on his glossy lips. ”thank you.”

for a second, you only stare, saying nothing. there’s something in satoru’s expression that catches you off guard, something that’s a little hard to identify. is it the way the light reflects off his skin, his pupils? the red, feverish flush of his skin? that flimsy little smile? or is it the honesty in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like he’s trying to convey something he can’t put into words?

as you look at him, take him in, the boy you love so dearly, you can’t help but feel like he just carved open his chest — let you peek inside his ribcage. it’s hard not to feel flustered, in the presence of something so vulnerable.

and he’s thanking you. as if taking care of him is a great burden, a chore, something you’d demand gratitude for. you want to tell him that it’s the bare minimum, the very least of what he deserves. the very least of what you could, should do for him.

you want to tell him that he’s safe, here. that there’s no need to be the strongest, whatever the hell that means, that he can let go of the burdens you know he hides from you. that he can just be your sick, terribly stubborn boyfriend.

”… okay,” is all you breathe out, every other word getting stuck in the back of your throat. ”that’s good.”

satoru’s fingers curl around yours, suddenly, where they lay on your lap. his movements are still a little groggy, disoriented, as he brings your hand up to his lips. they’re warm and soft, especially so in light of his fever. he closes his eyes, white lashes catching the light of the sun, flitting in through the haphazardly closed blinds. your heartbeat stutters.

”… love you,” he mutters. a soft little thing. your eyes don’t leave his face. and your lips part before your brain can instruct them to.

”i love you too,” you blurt out, instantaneous. like you couldn’t bear to keep him waiting, even for a second. ”… satoru.”

he smiles against your skin. he always does, at the sound of those words. you make him feel so terribly, terribly weak, all the time, everyday. you make him feel so human, and he can’t bring himself to think of it as a bad thing anymore.

he’s still cradling your hand when he brings it down to the blanket. ”thanks for coming,” he continues, pushing himself. trying to get the words out while he still has the energy to say them. “you didn’t have to.”

they’re a little clumsy, a little stale on his tongue, but they’re honest. he is thankful — the prospect of being seen like this is discomforting, gruelingly so, but he doesn’t mind nearly as much if it’s you. he’d never tell you, but he did feel just a little lonely, when he woke up this morning. disoriented, enveloped by hot flashes of pain, in a way he’s not used to in the slightest. missing out on your date, too, that he had been looking forward to ever since you decided on a time.

but, as if sensing it, you came to his rescue. the feeling of your lips on his skin was the first sensation he felt, when he woke up for the second time — with you by his side, this time. his guardian angel, carrying the scent of spring with you. a memory of a certain boy, of better times.

(satoru thinks you’re nostalgia personified. he likes to imagine that you met as children, underneath a cherry tree somewhere, but he knows it’s not true. there’s no way he wouldn’t remember you.)

you smile. pleased, at his show of vulnerability, small as it may be. ”i wanted to,” you assure him. equally honest, equally full of double meanings and hidden messages that neither of you need to uncover to understand. ”… i care about you. of course i’d come.”

a light, raspy chuckle; that’s all satoru manages to vocalize. his mind is stuffed, and there’s an ache in his chest, longing to be filled. it’s been there for a while now. but somehow, you seem to fill it up, slowly but surely, almost effortlessly — with every sound you make, every slight movement, every flicker of an expression on your face. everything seems so effortlessly perfect, in his eyes.

the words leave his lips before his mind can think the thought to reel them back in.

”what did i do to deserve you…?”

you blink. a moment passes.

then your eyes soften, considerably so, crumbling at the corners like the cookies satoru loves so much. he’s looking at you, eyes soft in a similar sense, layered over with adoration. you think the love inside your chest might crawl out of your throat and eat him alive.

you give him a chuckle of your own, quivering slightly. terribly fond. this time, you’re the one who drags his hand up to meet your lips; kissing his knuckle softly. his breath hitches.

”i’m the one who should be saying that to you,” you grin, a little weakly. and you mean it. you don’t think you’ve ever meant anything more.

it’s so honest that it strikes a cord right down his heart, more heat than the fever can account for rushing to his cheeks. satoru hopes you don’t notice it. all he can do is squeeze your fingers, lightly, not trusting his voice not to break. silence lingers, and you only gaze at him softly.

”… do you want anything else?” you finally ask, with a tilt of your head. still so eager to assist, racking your brain to come up with anything else to do for him. ”i’ll get it for you, no matter what it is.”

and, truthfully, satoru thinks you’ve done more than enough. more than he could ever make up for. but he’s always been greedy, and there’s one thing, only one thing, one thing he can’t help but ask for. something he craves more than anything. he can’t help but indulge himself, indulge in his selfishness, in the need to feel your skin against his.

so he stretches his arms out, and looks at you with a distinctly needy glint in his eyes. his fingers move in a grabby motion, almost unconsciously, and he might’ve been embarrassed if he wasn’t still so feverish. all he wants is to keep you close, to make the hollowness inside his chest dissipate. you always make that lonely feeling go away.

needless to say, you heed his request. almost instantly, your heart pumping in a steady rhythm, with this visceral desire to keep him close, to protect him. and who are you to resist, when he’s asking you for it himself?

you waste no time crawling beneath the covers, situating yourself right next to your lover. only then do you finally, finally, reach your arms out to pull him close; so close you feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart. his cheek meets the softness of your chest, snuggling closer, and you card a hand through his soft locks. his arms reach around your midriff, a perfect puzzle piece, and he releases an audible sigh — deep and satisfied. in his tired, clingy state, he subconsciously throws a leg over yours, trapping you further.

you wouldn’t have it any other way.

finally, satoru can fall asleep. with the fever still clouding his senses, and your nimble fingers smoothing along his scalp, the occasional kiss to his head as he listens to your soft heartbeat, he’s drifted off before either of you know it. melting into you, into your warm embrace, cheek squished against your chest. tiny little breaths fall from his lips, and you feel like you’re cradling the whole world in your arms.

you’re relieved. making yourself comfortable on your back, with satoru sleeping soundly on top of you, hoping he’ll feel better when he wakes up. careful, even with your breathing, intent on letting him sleep. knowing he doesn’t get nearly as much rest as he should, most days.

before long, even you succumb to the cozy atmosphere, gradually dozing off. satoru is always warm, even more so now, and his weight is comforting.

stifling a yawn, you tug him a little bit closer, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. you could use a day of catching up on lost sleep, too.

when you wake up, you’re acutely aware of something poking your cheek.

it’s a ticklish sensation, sort of irritating, and it rouses you from your cozy slumber. disgruntled, so cruelly ripped away from your sweet dreams — satoru was in it, you think. you feel robbed.

still, you can’t be too mad. not when the real deal is right in front of you, eyes crinkled and full of warmth, a teasing smile on his lips. he’s still snuggled into your chest, all cozy and cute, as you lay on your back, propped up by a myriad of fluffy pillows. he looks up at you adoringly.

”well hello there,” he purrs, shooting a giddy little grin your way. still poking your cheek. ”wakey-wakey, sunshine!”

a series of blinks. you stir a little further, the sleepy haze of your brain beginning to slip off, slowly but surely. it takes a couple of seconds for you to remember why you’re here, what happened before you fell asleep.

”… hey,” you greet, at last, stifling a yawn and squeezing your eyes shut. stretching lazily, like a sleepy cat. ”how do you feel…?”

”i’m perfect. better than perfect, actually,” satoru chirps, a little cheeky, hoisting himself up so that he’s hovering above you. a hint of mischief in those pretty eyes. ”you’re a good nurse, y’know?”

you huff out a chuckle. as always, his actions reveal more than his words — you could tell he felt a lot better the moment you saw his smile, heard how he formed his words. “alright, that’s good,” you hum, exhaling softly. ”how long was i asleep? what time is it?”

”i woke up just now, too,” satoru lies, albeit a small one. he did wake up recently, only to spend what he thinks must’ve been at least fifteen minutes staring at you until he physically couldn’t take it anymore. he had to hear your voice, see your smile. it’s a personal record for him; usually he spends less time admiring your peaceful expression, far too eager to speak to you.

”it’s pretty late,” he continues, another small lie. pleased with himself. ”way too late for you to go back, actually. how about you spend the night?”

another blink, your eyelids heavy and droopy as they open and close. then you’re reaching for your phone on the nightstand, and checking the time. a smile is quick to bloom on your lips, teasing and bubbly, as you tilt your head to meet his gaze.

”it’s only four, satoru.”

”way, way too late,” he only reaffirms, flopping down on top of you again, keeping you from leaving. ”god knows what kinda creeps are out there at this hour — much too unsafe. i’m just looking out for you, baby.”

”of course,” you indulge him, a sly little roll of your eyes that makes him pout. ”you know i was planning on staying over anyway, right?”

”well, of course! i wouldn’t expect anything less from my favorite nurse.”

his eyes betray his words, gleaming with a sudden colour of excitement, all glitter and relief. a joy that clogs up his throat like seafoam, and spills out from his lips. you look down at him, for a second, unable to resist the temptation — reaching for his forehead with the back of your hand.

it’s significantly less scalding, now.

you let out a sigh, laced with relief, one you didn’t know you’d been holding in. ”it really has gone down,” you hum, stretching the sleep from your limbs again. “that’s good.”

satoru huffs. ”i said i was perfect, right? don’t you trust me, my sweet lover?”

”i never know with you,” you give him a huff of your own, exasperated. fond. “you said you were just fine this morning, too.”

”i was!” he whines. piling up lie after lie. “i totally could’ve made it to that date, you know. i got worse because you had no faith in my abilities.”

”right. of course.” you shoot him a lopsided grin. ”you just don’t wanna admit the fever beat your ass, huh?”

”see? no faith.” a chuckle slips from your lips, and satoru has to bite back a smile. ”unbelievable. i fought that fever off just for you, and here you are, laughing at me.”

”oh? i thought it was thanks to my top notch nursing skills?”

”well, that too! but it was mostly me.”

a sigh. “whatever you say.” then you’re smiling, once more, unable to help yourself. eyes crinkled at the edges, soft around the corners. ”i’m just glad you’re better. i was worried.”

satoru pouts, again, but you can tell he acknowledges it — your earnest concern. this is how you love, the both of you, through words that never say it all and actions that say the words your mouths can’t fit. decoding the meaning of it all in silent gestures, glints in your eyes. little truth games.

”you really thought a lil’ fever was gonna be enough to keep me down?” he shakes his head once, then twice. and you know that what he means to say is i never want you to worry. “c’mon, now, baby.”

another lighthearted roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah. my sincerest apologies, my strong, stubborn, totally-not-sick boyfriend.”

”don’t you mean your strong, perfect, beautiful, clever, flawless, totally-not-sick boyfriend?”

”don’t think i didn’t notice you sneaking the stubborn out of there.”

”hehe.”

a silent moment passes, something tender filling up the space between your words. satoru’s weight is still so comforting, like a big blanket, his arms enveloping you as he breathes in your scent. you’re so happy that he’s acting insufferable again.

”alright, my honeybee,” he suddenly chirps, breaking the silence, hoisting himself up. ”time to go. we can still get those crêpes if we hurry.”

you blink. once, then twice.

”… satoru.”

”yeah? what’s up?”

you give him an unimpressed look, gazing up at him, towering over you like he fully thought you’d be alright with letting him leave. ”you’re… not going out today,” you deadpan. “you know that, right?”

this time, he’s the one who blinks. once, then twice.

”huh? why not?”

”uh, because you’re sick, maybe?”

”what?” satoru pretends to be shocked, offended, as if he can’t believe you’d even suggest something so outrageous. ”i’m all better, though!”

you raise an eyebrow, thoroughly displeased. all better? ”your fever isn’t gone, satoru. it’s just not horrible anymore. you’ll get yourself even more sick if you go out now.”

”i won’t! seriously!” he insists, looking down at you with a sorry attempt at puppy dog eyes. ”i feel good enough to run a marathon!”

”you’re not doing that either,” you mutter. then a sigh, exasperated. you can’t let this charade go on for too long. ”come on, satoru — don’t be so stubborn. we can go there another time.”

”but —”

”besides, didn’t you say i have to spend the night because it’s too late to go outside? remember the creeps?” there’s amusement in your voice, a light smile on your lips. ”what if they get us?”

”well, they obviously won’t get you while i’m there,” he huffs. ”what, you don’t think i can protect you properly? you’re hurting me, angel.”

you bite back an incredulous laugh. god, he’s stubborn. you’re so in love with him you just barely restrain the urge to pull him in for a kiss.

”sa-to-ru,” you coo, dragging each syllable out, sending a shiver down his spine. ”we’re not going outside. end of discussion.”

”why not, though?” he continues to pout, still refusing to give in. resorting to cheap guilt-tripping. ”don’t you wanna go on a date with me? you don’t want to see me happy, is that it?”

you only sigh, thoroughly exasperated, reaching up to cup his cheek nonetheless. he nuzzles into it. ”you’re such a baby.”

”your baby.”

another sigh, to mask your adoration. at this rate, the back and forth will never end, so you scramble for solutions.

“can’t we just have our date here?” you suggest, after some contemplation. ”i bought some ice cream on my way here. we could watch a movie, or something. isn’t that enough?”

satoru’s eyes bore into yours. contemplative, as he lets the silence linger, gears turning inside his mind. he wants to go outside with you, wants to hold your hand and hear you hum happily as you bite into your crêpe; wants to steal a bite when you’re not looking.

but it is a tempting offer. you could eat ice cream, and binge a bunch of movies, and he could rest his head in your lap. coax you into playing with his hair.

(he’s maybe, just maybe, a little bit tired, too.)

so, finally, he sighs — softly. in resignation.

”… well, i guess that’s fine,” he pouts, allowing himself to fall back into your embrace. his voice is muffled, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. ”i wanted crêpes, though…”

”i’ll get you your crepes,” you assure him, relieved to have reached a compromise. ”i can go buy ’em myself and come back. then we —”

”no, no, no!” satoru suddenly interjects. whining, tugging you closer. ”you’re not going anywhere. not without me!”

a sigh, just as adoring as it is fatigued. ”then i’ll… order crêpes, or something. or we’ll eat ice cream today and then crêpes when you’re better. does that sound okay?”

satoru is silent, for a while.

”… okay,” he hums. ”that’s fine.”

”haah. okay, good —”

”however!”

you give him a look, a silent what now? that has him smiling. shuffling a little, in your embrace, planting his jaw on top of your chest and gazing up at you with a grin. ”instead of the crêpes, i want a kiss.”

you blink. exasperated, as an amused chuckle follows. ”so convoluted. you can just ask, you know?” you don’t give him time to answer, eager to appease the pouty man. ”whatever.”

leaning in, you press a chaste kiss to his cheek. sweet and soft. to your surprise, he’s still pouting when you pull away. ”i meant on the lips,” he explains, as if it was obvious.

a tilt of your head.

”… but you’re sick.”

”so?” satoru just pouts, expression practically etched into his face at this point. ”you won’t kiss me anymore? just cause i’ve got a tiny, miniscule fever?” he huffs, turning his head to the right and shutting his eyes. ”if you don’t love me anymore, you can just say that.”

another sigh leaves your lips. he’s so ridiculous. you can’t really deny him, though.

”… fine. it’s your fault if i get sick, though.”

in the blink of an eye, he’s perked right back up. wagging his non-existent tail, closing his eyes and waiting for you to try again. silly.

but you relent. his lips are only slightly warmer than usual, and you choose to see it as the good sign it is, proof that his fever truly is starting to dissipate. you feel satoru relax, melting into the kiss, but before it can drag out too long you’ve pulled away. ”— there. happy now?”

”for now,” he quips, equally teasing. he’s cute, though. a little kiss or two is a small price to pay for the spark of joy in his iris, even if it ends with you sick on your deathbed in a couple of days.

”that’ll do,” you grin, hoisting yourself up with your elbows, carrying satoru with you, his jaw still on your chest. ”wanna go eat some ice cream, mr unreasonable?”

you don’t really need an answer. of course satoru wants ice cream. you’ve never seen him turn down anything sweet — and, lo and behold, he perks up again, getting into a sitting position. like an excited puppy.

”got it,” you chuckle, stopping to think for a moment. “there’s soup left, too. but maybe you’d rather order something? it turned out kinda so-so.”

satoru gapes. ”you kidding? that was the best soup i’ve ever had!”

his exclamation makes you roll your eyes, words so coated in confidence that you almost want to believe him. ”satoru. you don’t have to lie.”

”i’m not!”

”you couldn’t even taste it.”

”i could, i could!” he stubbornly whines. ”i tasted all your love. every single drop!”

you give him a look. he only grins at you, a little teasing, a little giddy. you can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed; averting your gaze with a sharp scoff, trying to appear unbothered. ”yeah? and how did my love taste?”

satoru leans forward. it’s sudden, and you blink, instinctively leaning back in turn. he’s wearing a signature smirk when he stops moving, close enough that you feel his breath on your skin. hot.

”delicious,” he purrs, glancing down at your lips. blue eyes gleaming with mirth. ”best thing i’ve ever had.”

you know he’s just trying to fluster you, so you try to fight against it, but it doesn’t work nearly as well as you’d like — crumbling under his gaze, averting your own with a quiet huff. and he lets you off the hook, satisfied with your embarrassed expression. pulling back slightly, letting you breathe.

as swiftly as you can, you regain your composure. clearing your throat. ”well, you can have more of it later, then,” you make a move to get off the bed. ”let’s go eat ice cream.”

after being caged in by satoru for so long, your limbs are a little stiff, caught under the weight of his boundless love. when your feet hit the soft flooring, you stretch them out, watching satoru follow your lead. still clad in that sweaty shirt.

”you should probably get a change of clothes,” you suggest, exhaling as your muscles loosen up. ”you’ve been wearing that shirt all day.”

”oh? is that an excuse to see me out of it, sweetheart?” satoru grins, fresh mischief gleaming in his eyes. ”you know you can always just ask.”

you huff out a sardonic breath. ”yeah, yeah, whatever. throw on a hoodie or something, weirdo.” you stifle a giggle when he makes an offended noise behind you. “and some pants.”

”you don’t like the underwear?” he looks towards the corner of the room, studying himself in the mirror. “this is an expensive brand, you know?”

”you’re the only person on planet earth who’d give a fuck about underwear brands,” you scoff, a little snarky. ”just — put some comfortable clothes on, okay? i’ll go get the ice cream ready.”

”wait!” he exclaims, attaching himself to you, curling his arms around your bicep. “you’re not allowed to go anywhere without me, remember?”

“… okay, okay. hurry up and get changed, then.”

sitting back down on the bed, while satoru walks towards the closet, you scroll through your phone — refusing to meet his expectant stare. he wants you to look over, you’re well aware, just so he can tease you for trying to sneak a peek. but you’re not falling for it this time.

when he’s done, he’s wearing a comfy hoodie and some sweatpants. it’s a good look on him, casual and cozy. awfully cute. he wastes no time in attaching himself to you, again, an arm linked with yours as you travel to the kitchen; grabbing the pints of ice cream from the freezer, a couple snack bags from the drawers, before plopping down on the couch.

satoru maneuvers you into his lap, and you don’t put up a fight, leaning into him as your back meets his chest. he keeps you locked in place, arms around your waist, planting his jaw on the top of your head. and he relaxes, comforted by your smaller body pressed up against his. holding you so close satisfies a certain protective itch in his brain, never failing to calm him down. a safe haven, of sorts.

you watch the movie and eat the snacks, chattering away, letting the silence linger every now and then. after a while, satoru gets a slight headache, resting his head in your lap and whining for you to soothe him. you do so without any teasing; you’re much too soft for him. and he’s still sick, even if he’s doing better. you couldn’t resist him even if you tried.

so you opt to indulge him.

”baby, i think my fever’s going up again…” satoru pouts, gazing up at you through fluttering lashes. ”can you check?”

you smile, with a raise of your eyebrow. ”this is the fifth time you’ve asked me to check your temperature, toru.”

”just wanna make sure,” he whines. “please?”

with an exaggerated sigh, you lean down, lips once again meeting his forehead — humming against his skin. nope, his temperature hasn’t gone up. just like it hadn’t gone up the last time you checked, or the time before that.

”you’re good.”

”oh, thank god,” he exhales. ”are you sure? like, a hundred percent sure? maybe you should check again. just in case.”

”satoru,” you coo, a teasing lilt on the tip of your tongue. ”you can just ask me if you want a kiss.”

”a kiss? scandalous. i just wanna make sure my condition doesn’t worsen.”

he’s grinning, and you’re rolling your eyes, and both of you know damn well you’re going to indulge him anyway. he sighs in satisfaction when he feels your soft lips on his heated skin.

”hmm…” you narrow your eyes, thoughtfully, before looking down at him with a teasing smile. ”nope. definitely still the same temperature.”

”you sure?”

”a hundred percent.”

”hmm. okay, got it.” he rolls over, burying his face in your stomach. wrapping his limbs around your midriff. “that’s good. just wanted to check, you know?”

”of course.”

”might need you to check again soon. just to be safe,” he chirps, biting back a soft grin. you don’t bother hiding yours.

”got it, got it,” you coo, fingers carding through his messy hair. “anything for my sick baby.”

satoru releases a soft breath, bordering on a giggle. you can’t help but let your smile grow wider, heart brimming with affection. you let it clog up your chest until the movie’s almost over, and you simply can’t help yourself anymore.

”your room is very like you.”

it’s sudden, breaking the peaceful silence, making satoru stir. you’re both starting to get sleepy again. but he blinks up at you, studying your expression before parting his lips.

”… oh? how so?”

“well…” you stop to think. humming, absently fidgeting with a lock of your boyfriend’s hair. ”when i first walked in, i thought the whole house felt kind of empty, you know?”

satoru hums. unsure of where the conversation is going, maybe just a little intrigued. he mostly just likes listening to you talk.

”but then i went into your room, and — it just felt very you. kinda messy, and stuff, but cozy. and a little sentimental.” satoru looks up at you, admiring that certain soft glimmer in your eyes. you meet his stare with a smile. ”maybe it doesn’t make sense? i guess i’ve just been thinking about it.”

he closes his eyes.

there’s something soft in your tone, something silky and simple, and he can tell you’re being sincere. it’s something he likes about you — that willingness to be soft, almost pridefully so, to bare yourself even if you aren’t sure that he’ll return the favour. he likes to think it’s rubbing off on him, slowly but surely; he doesn’t think he’s quite as bad as before. telling you about things that are dear to him isn’t something that scares him, anymore. and even when you see him vulnerable, sick and delirious in bed, he isn’t afraid that you’ll use it against him.

you’re a comfort; his safe haven. a place to rest his weary head. maybe you always have been, even before he really got to know you.

”i like your place more,” he finally admits, lighthearted in its weight. your gaze flits down, but his is still lingering on the tv, not really paying attention to it. ”it feels very… you.”

a smile crawls up to rest against your lips. playing along, your hands finding solace in between his fluffy locks. ”how so?”

and satoru smiles. eyes sparkling with something mellow, like a soda pop cracked open on a boiling summer day. he shifts a little, just to gaze up at you again. ”it’s… homely. warm,” his smile only grows. “and awfully sentimental.”

he lifts a hand up, to touch your cheek. tender, as his thumb smooths against your skin. it’s warm, beneath his touch, heating up with every word he speaks. satoru’s love feels a little like the sun, when it spills out this fervently, like it could burn you into cinders — you think you’d be happy to lie in the ashes. he’s smiling at you, like sunshine, like little dusty specks of light. and he exhales.

”i wouldn’t mind staying there forever.”

the expression on his face is a lovely one. you take a moment to simply bask in it, desperate to etch it into your memory. you don’t think you could forget it even if you tried. how fondly the light of the room embraces him, that soft grin he’s shooting your way, only vaguely teasing. and his eyes, the gateways to his soul, so sincere you can’t look away.

you love this man with your whole chest. you knew before, you’ve known for a long time, but each day you fall in love all over again. it’s all you can think as you look at him, all snug and safe and happy in your lap.

you don’t realize you’ve been staring at him silently until he chuckles, pulling you out of your sentimental stupor. it only flusters you further.

”you’re cute,” satoru croons, still cradling your cheek. tender, soft fingertips against your heated skin. all you manage is a meek little furrow of your brows, but that only makes him chuckle again.

”… you can.”

he blinks. still smiling.

”stay forever, i mean.”

you can’t look at him, when you say it. the words are barely above a whisper, and you aren’t sure if they’re conscious or not. it’d be nice to say they just slipped out, but they feel somewhat deliberate, all the same. you know you mean them, either way. it’s the one thing you’re sure of.

this time, satoru is the one who can do nothing but stare, his expression unreadable. you try not to let your gaze wander to his face, his eyes; but through the peripheral of your vision, you feel like you catch a particular kind of sadness reflected in them. or maybe it’s something closer to yearning, longing. something like that.

”… well,” he finally hums, voice so low you barely pick up on it. ”maybe i will, then.”

you reach something.

you catch a glimpse of it, at least, for just a second or two. something warm and bare, something simple and incomprehensible at the same time. an emotion so strong it leaves you reeling, yet still so light. it’s there and then it isn’t, just out of reach, and you think that if you could only find the courage to curl your fingers around his, then —

a laugh track plays from the tv, snapping you both out of your thoughts.

(the moment passes before you can fully understand it, fully comprehend it. maybe some part of you already has.)

…

satoru chuckles, reaching for another ball of mochi and popping it into his mouth. ”this movie’s awful, huh?”

”yeah,” you’re quick to agree, maybe a little too quick. grinning weakly. ”it’s good in a so bad it’s good kinda way, though.”

he hums in absentminded agreement, still chewing on the soft treat. keeping his gaze steady on the screen, the flicker of emotional scenes he hasn’t been keeping track of, barely resisting the urge to look up at you again. but his heart already feels a little too mushy for his liking — he’s not sure he could take it.

satoru doesn’t get sick often.

his immune system is strong, there’s no denying that. but more than anything, he simply can’t afford to be sick. there are people who need him, people who depend on him, and the idea of being in such a defenseless state — stuck in bed while the world continues to spin, unattended — makes him feel so anxious he could throw up. even sleeping makes him feel a little skittish, sometimes, though he’s gotten a lot better since he started falling asleep with you in his arms.

it’s funny, he thinks. before you, being sick wasn’t something that really existed in his world. if he felt a little under the weather he would simply puff out his chest and down a painkiller or two, waving it off with a flick of his wrist; no biggie, really. he’s satoru gojo, after all, and the world needs his eyes on it.

but then you came along. you came to his rescue, spring in your pockets, and you took care of him, with what he knows to be love. genuine, earnest concern for his wellbeing. his happiness.

yeah — it’s funny, for sure. satoru never thought he’d ever enjoy being sick.

yet here he is, head in your lap, feeling you run your fingers through his hair. kissing his forehead whenever he whines, indulging his little convoluted ploys. bringing him soup, when he gets hungry again, soup you made yourself. he wasn’t kidding when he said he tasted your love through it; it was all he could taste, with his numbed out senses, all he could feel.

you’re so good to him. there’s nothing he would trade for these moments with you, absolutely nothing. he’s glad you came over, after all. glad you’re so stubborn, and oh so caring. satoru can’t help but smile, heart almost stuffed to the brim with gratitude — what could he possibly do with this immense love in his chest?

”i love you so much,” he blurts out, practically beaming. now you’re in his lap, again, and he takes the opportunity to smear openmouthed kisses against your neck. delighting in the little squeak you try to muffle.

”where did that come from?” you blink, squirming a little in his embrace. a movie is still playing on the tv screen, one better than the last — your attention was fixed on it before satoru broke the silence.

”just felt like saying it!” he only chirps, grinning ear to ear. ”i love you. you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he murmurs, earnestly, lips against your skin. ”my whole world.”

for a moment, you wonder if the fever is making him delirious. then again, this is pretty standard for satoru; always eager to fluster you, to shower you with love until you’re pushing him away. it’s overwhelming, but you’ve never minded. this is how you measure his love — little gaps between too much and never enough.

”… you’re not gonna say it back?” comes a whine, right by your ear. now he’s nibbling at your neck, little beast that he is, pouting because you let the silence linger for too long. he’s being such a baby about it. but you still rush to reassure him, echoing his words in earnest.

”i love you too, satoru,” you smile, slightly exasperated. craning your neck so that your lips can meet his jaw, and satoru grins, giddy at the attention. ”my whole universe.”

satoru lets out a happy little noise, almost a giggle, sleepy and pleased. his arms squeeze you just a little tighter, like you could never be close enough, even when he’s got you in his lap like this. if he could, he’d keep you there all the time. attached at the hip, close as can be.

even with a ruined date, even after worrying you, he feels well and truly satisfied. because you're here, and you’re watching a good movie, and you’re gonna stay over tonight. when it gets dark out, he’ll get to fall asleep cuddled up beside you, hold you in his arms and feel you nuzzle into his chest. then he’ll pepper your face with kisses to wake you up, and you’ll grumble all sweetly, and he’ll carry you to the kitchen despite your grumpy protests. you’ll eat breakfast together, chatting and enjoying the way the sunlight flickers around the room like a happy cat. maybe he can even make you breakfast himself, to thank you for today.

if the fever’s gone by then, you’ll probably let him outside. then you can go get those crêpes, and maybe go to a park, or to the movie theatre, or a fun arcade, before heading back to your apartment to relax. and then he’ll stay over. the day after, too. and the day after that.

living together with you wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks. it wouldn’t be bad at all, actually.

the thought has been on his mind for a while, now. getting to fall asleep with you every night, eat breakfast with you every morning, see more of your footprints in his life… satoru can’t think of anything he’d like more. maybe he’ll start hinting at it, slowly but surely. if he can lure you into broaching the subject, that would be ideal — but if he has to, he doesn’t mind doing it himself. you’re worth the emotional toll.

you curl into your boyfriend a little further, his jaw now resting cheekily on the top of your head, large palms underneath your shirt and rubbing circles into your bare skin. you have no idea what he’s thinking, no idea about his plans, and he thinks that’s for the best. he knows you’ll indulge him, at the end of the day.

maybe he’ll just ask you, tomorrow. if you say no, he can just blame it on the fever making him delirious.

#save me sick soft sweet sappy satoru….. save me……..#he means the wholeeee universe to me :’3 i love this specific toru sm !! i really do think he’s a lonely sweetie at heart :((#i wrote this fic a LONG time ago but i polished it a bunch so hopefully it doesnt feel rusty !!#i scrambled to come up w a title in time but i think this one kinda slaps idk … im severely sleepy rn so it might. Not be. though 😭😭#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x y/n

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girlgenius1111 · 5 days

Text

contagious

sol gets... pretty sick. ingrid and mapi try to help. basically. a sol sickfic :) so warnings for sickfic things

It didn’t even really occur to you to tell anyone that you weren’t feeling well. You were sick, you had an exam today in one of your classes, and there was no thought in your mind that considered not going to school. Now it was probably your fault that you were sick, honestly.

This exam had been keeping you up for a week. It was the first big test you’d had since everything had happened. And you were determined, more than determined, to prove that you were better, that progress was being made. You hadn’t cared much for your grades since arriving in Spain, but you wanted that to change.

It was this motivation, to give your sister and Mapi something tangible to prove that you really were trying to be better, that had you studying hour after hour, night after night. It was just… you wanted to be worth all the trouble that Ingrid and Mapi had gone through with you recently. And you really believed that if you did better, were better, you’d be worth it.

So, your health was the least of your concerns. You’d run yourself down, you knew it, and there was nothing else to do but push through. It was around 7:30 am and you were going through your flashcards, once again. Your exam was in your chemistry class, and it was expected to be the hardest exam of the year. Your eyes were closing, and your head ached, but you pushed through, moving through unit card after card, whispering the answers to yourself.

A soft knock on your door interrupted you, and you glanced up, making an almost identical movement to Scout, who was sprawled out on the edge of your bed.

“Come in,” you replied, clearing your throat as your voice came out raspy.

Mapi pushed the door open, a wrinkle of concern etched into her forehead. “Are you okay? You sound weird.”

“Fine.” You said confidently, shaking off her concern. “What’s up?”

“The training schedule got changed, we have to leave in 5. Is that okay?”

You nodded, having already been dressed. “Yeah, I’ll go to the library and study more before class.”

“Make sure you eat something before we leave, Solstråle, it’s important.” Mapi reminded, and you nodded, agreeing easily, though you weren’t quite sure you could swallow anything at the moment; your throat felt like it was on fire.

You got all your stuff together, shedding the sweatshirt you had on as you were rather warm, before heading downstairs. You accepted the coffee Ingrid handed you gratefully, stopping in the kitchen to grab a granola bar and an apple that you were sure you wouldn’t be eating.

“You look pale.” Ingrid said, stepping closer to study your face. “Do you feel alright?”

“Yep, fine. Just nervous about the exam.” You lied, mustering a half smile that you were sure was not believable. Ingrid reached her hand out, about to feel your forehead for a fever, when Mapi’s voice echoed through the house.

“¡Vamos chicas!” She shouted. You slipped past your sister, heading for the door, and though she followed close behind you, Mapi asked her a question about training that successfully distracted her. Your slightly odd behavior slipped her mind as she contemplated the long training session ahead, even as you got out of the car at school, and both her and Mapi wished you luck on your exam.

You walked into the building, ignoring the dizziness that was making walking in a straight line difficult, determined to make it to your 3rd class of the day, determined to ace your exam.

--------

An all encompassing anxiety flooded Ingrid’s body when the assistant coaches pulled her aside, and handed her phone to her. It wasn’t the action that scared her, more the words that accompanied it. “Your phone was ringing like crazy in the locker room, Mapi’s too. It’s your sister’s school.”

Making sure to thank the coach, Ingrid took the phone and stepped away from the pitch, a shaky hand bringing the phone to her ear as she called your school back. Were you hurt? Sick? Had something horrible happened? Were you having a panic attack? Did you get into another fight? The possibilities of why the school could be calling her so insistently swirled around chaotically in her head, until someone finally answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Ingrid Engen, I am returning your call about-”

“Yes, Ms. Engen. Your sister was brought to the nurse's office a half hour ago. She seems to have the flu, as her fever and other symptoms indicate. We have to send her home, but she cannot leave without your permission. Can you give us the go ahead to let her leave?”

Ingrid breathed a sigh of relief. You were sick, and that was something she could deal with, though the nurse’s words confused her. “Let her leave? By herself? Can you put her on the phone?”

“Of course.”

There was some shuffling, before your raspy voice came over the line, sounding horribly guilty, and horribly unwell. “Hi.” You sniffed, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back on the wall behind you. You’d barely made it through your first class before everything had caught up to you, and you passed right out at your desk. From exhaustion, or just because of your fever, you weren’t sure. You were cooling off now, though, an ice pack on the back of your neck, a fan blowing cool air on you, and you had the mind to feel sorry for interrupting an important training session.

“Hey, solstråle. You’re sick? Ingrid said softly.

“Yeah. Can you just tell them I can uber home?” You asked, not quite sure what she wanted to talk to you about.

You were met with a scoff. “No, I cannot. I’ll leave right now and come pick you up. 10 minutes, max.” Ingrid promised, thinking the suggestion that you uber to be a bad joke.

“You have training, Ingrid,” you sighed. “I can get home by myself, it’s fine.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes, beginning to walk over to Jona to update him on the situation. “I am sure that you can get home by yourself, but you don’t need to. I’ll come get you.”

“I don’t- okay.” You replied finally, too exhausted and too ill to argue that hard.

“See you soon.” Ingrid said, before hanging up. She told Jona what was going on, and he told her that, of course, she could leave early. Your sister practically sprinted to the locker room, fully colliding with Mapi in the hall.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Mapi said, her hands on Ingrid’s shoulders the only thing keeping her girlfriend upright.

“Solstråle is sick, I have to go get her.” Ingrid rushed out, moving around Mapi and into the locker room to grab her stuff.

“I knew she didn’t seem right this morning. Let’s go.”

“María, you don’t have to-”

“I am coming. I am done in the gym for the day anyway. Vamos, vamos,” Mapi said, rolling her eyes. Ingrid managed to give her a small smile, before they were heading out of the building, and on the way to you.

-------

It seemed a little ridiculous that Ingrid was leaving training for this for you. It felt more ridiculous when both her and Mapi came rushing into the front office, making a beeline for you.

“Mi sol, how are you feeling?” Mapi asked kindly. You cracked your eyes open to see both your sister and her girlfriend crouched in front of the chair you were sitting in, looking like they had literally come right from training.

“I’m fine, you guys didn’t have to come.” You mumbled, although you unconsciously leaned into the hand Ingrid placed on your cheek, checking your temperature.

“She passed out at her desk during her first class, and she has a fever of 38.9°.” The nurse chimed in.

You resisted the urge to glare at the woman, who had actually been very kind, and very helpful.

“38.9°?”

“Passed out?”

Both Ingrid and Mapi spoke at the same time, frowning at you as you were clearly downplaying this for some reason.

“I’m fine,” you emphasized. The two women exchanged glances, before deciding to focus on getting you home, rather than calling out your obvious rejection of their help. “If you tell them I’m fine, I can go back to class and take my exam.”

You looked at them hopefully, shrinking a little when they both returned your gaze, looking astonished.

“Absolutely not.” Ingrid said. “We’re going home.”

“But-”

“No. Let’s go.” Mapi cut in, silencing your argument with her uncharacteristically harsh tone. If one thing really got to her, it was when you showed little regard for your own health or wellbeing.

You frowned at them, but went quiet anyway, knowing the argument was lost. You stood, stumbling a little as you were dizzy and a bit unsteady on your feet. Ingrid steadied you, wrapping her arm around your shoulders, before guiding you out of the building.

“Jesus, Solstråle, you’re like a furnace.” She said, wincing at how hot your skin burned against hers.

“It’s warm in the school, I’m fine, really,” you began, weakly fighting Ingrid’s grip. They were making you go home, yes, but you’d rather have them run you over with their car than admit how awful you really felt.

“Stop it. You’re sick, we’re going home. No arguments.” Ingrid replied firmly, giving you a look that dared you to argue again with her. You didn’t.

------

Upon arriving home, you stubbornly refused to sit on the couch while Ingrid and Mapi questioned you about your symptoms. You told them that you couldn’t really breathe through your nose, your throat hurt, your head hurt, and you were exhausted. Of course, you played all this down, not that either of them believed you.

“Open your mouth.” Ingrid instructed. “Let me look at your tonsils, you might have strep.”

“What, are you a doctor and I didn’t know?” You asked grumpily, shrugging out from her grasp, and trying to head up to your room. The last thing you wanted was to get them sick.

“Stop, you aren’t going anywhere. Get on the couch.” Ingrid snapped, her impatience and worry getting the better of her. She softened, slightly, when she saw your expression waver, a bit of insecurity bleeding through the passive look you’d been sporting all day.

“No, I'll go to my room. I don’t want to get you sick.”

“We don’t care about that, we want to keep an eye on you. Especially because you seem pretty committed to pretending you’re fine.” Mapi said, handing you some pills and a glass of water. They both looked tired and worried, and you hated it. Both of them were still in their training kits. They’d left training, probably not gotten properly stretched afterwards, and rushed to you. And here they stood, not worried about any of that. Only focused on you.

You could handle the flu yourself, you’d done so up until this point. “I’m fine, I’ve got it.” You croaked, feeling weirdly emotional. You blinked hard, looking away from both of them.

Ingrid sighed. “Go put on comfy clothes, and then come back downstairs.” She said softly. Resigned, you nodded, wiping haphazardly at your eyes, before you headed for the stairs. You heard Ingrid and Mapi conversing in hushed tones behind you, but you were honestly too sick to listen very hard.

You shuffled back downstairs a few minutes later, clad in one of Mapi’s Barcelona sweatshirts, a pair of shorts Ingrid thought she’d lost, and wrapped in one of the blankets from your bed. You looked miserable, your nose all red from using tissues on it all day, face flushed with fever. Ingrid smiled at you sympathetically, nodding towards the living room.

“Go lay down.. I’ll be there in a second.” She instructed, happy when you did as she asked this time.

You flopped onto the couch, accepting Scout’s offered snuggles as you were shaking, cold beyond belief even though you were covered by a fuzzy blanket. Mapi came in a minute later, freshly showered, and handed you the remotes to the TV.

Mapi never let you pick what to watch, always insisting that you and Ingrid needed to watch Spanish shows with her to work on your mastery of the language. Really, you both knew her Norwegian was far worse than your Spanish, and she couldn’t keep up with the rapid dialogue in the shows you and Ingrid watched. Wordlessly, you put on a rerun of an old sitcom you’d grown up watching, curling up under the blanket, and next to Scout, until only your eyes were visible.

Mapi snorted at the sight, settling in the opposite corner of the couch. “Comfy?” She asked.

You gave her a thumbs up.

“Need anything?”

You shook your head.

“Is there a reason you aren’t speaking or is it just for fun?” Mapi asked casually.

You huffed, sitting up a bit. “Throat hurts.”

The Spaniard looked at you with concern. “Oh, nena.” She said sympathetically. You squirmed uncomfortably at her sympathy, looking away. Your sister walked in, then, her hands full of about 8 different things, which she dumped on the coffee table, taking a seat right next to you on the couch.

“Okay. Temperature first. Sit up.” She instructed.

Grumbling slightly, you did so, in the process dislodging Scout, who sighed dramatically and snuggled closer to your legs. Ingrid ran the thermometer over your forehead, frowning at the little screen when it beeped. She turned her phone flashlight on, instructing you to open your mouth. She ignored your eye roll, looking critically at your tonsils.

“They look swollen.” She said to herself. “We should take you to the doctor.”

Both Ingrid and Mapi watched in alarm as you sat completely upright, the color draining from your face. “No doctor.” You said through gritted teeth.

“Honey,” Ingrid began, but you cut her off.

“No doctor, Ingrid, please.” You looked near tears, and it was such a departure from your composed nature just seconds before, that Ingrid found herself nodding.

“Okay, no doctor today.” You noticed the added today but decided not to comment, relaxing back into the couch cushions. Your sister settled down next to you, offering you a bag of cough drops, which you took, giving her a small thanks.

You must have fallen asleep only minutes later, because the next thing you knew, a soft touch on your forehead and the smell of something delicious cooking wafting into the room were waking you up.

“Wake up, nena. You need to eat.”

You blinked open your eyes to find Mapi hovering over you, her hand softly pushing some hair off your forehead. You struggled to sit up, allowing the Spaniard to help you, before you spoke.

“Lunch?” You asked not quite awake enough for full sentences, but very aware that when you’d fallen asleep, it was just before 11am, but you felt like you’d been asleep for hours.

Mapi shook her head. “No, it’s 3, but we let you sleep. Ingrid finished the soup, though, and it’s time for more medicine.”

Soup. Soup sounded good. You nodded slowly, chugging the water bottle that Mapi handed you. Your head felt all cloudy, your throat agonizingly painful, and you were unable to breathe through your nose. You could only lay limp on the couch, teeth chattering.

“How do you feel?” She wondered.

You shrugged in response, frowning. “Tired.”

Mapi cracked a smile. “You can go back to sleep after you eat.”

Ingrid entered the room then, carrying a steaming bowl in her hands, a large sports drink tucked under her arm. She looked undeniably a bit frazzled, and you wondered if it was from making soup from scratch, or from worrying about you. It was just a cold, honestly. Everyone was being dramatic.

Ingrid handed you the bowl of soup, and you noticed that she gave you a little spoon. You hated using big spoons, even for the foods you were supposed to use them for, but you didn’t really recall telling your sister that. She must have just… noticed. It was a nice gesture, and it shouldn’t have made you want to cry as much as it did.

“Thank you, Ingrid,” you said, voice barely there, but the sentiment was clear all the same. Ingrid smiled down at you, gently pinching your cheek.

“Of course. Anything for you.” Ingrid murmured, sitting down on the couch next to her girlfriend.

You ate a spoonful of the soup, blinking in amazement. You knew Ingrid was a good cook, but this was one of the best things you’d ever eaten, even with your taste slightly dulled from your illness.

“Good?” Ingrid asked.

“So good. What is this, and why haven’t you made it before now?”

Ingrid furrowed her eyebrows at you. “What? It’s the chicken soup with dumplings, don’t you recognize it?”

You returned her look of confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’d remember eating this.”

“You’ve had this before.” Ingrid said incredulously. “Back in Norway.”

Your expression changed, growing guarded and slightly angry. “No, I haven’t.” You said back, a bit sharply. You saw where this was going, and it was not the turn you wanted the conversation to take today.

“Mom used to make this for us when we would get sick!” Ingrid continued, freezing after the words left her mouth, realization dawning across her face, as well as guilt.

“Not for me.” You replied in a monotone, sipping slowly at the soup, trying not to seem too eager. You were annoyed with Ingrid now, angry with your mother, as you always were, and you didn’t want to seem too excited about the soup. Even if it felt like it was bringing you back from the dead, spoonful by spoonful.

“Oh.” Ingrid said, ignoring the look sent her way by her girlfriend. “Well, I’ll make it for you whenever you want. Do you need anything else?”

You shook your head, keeping your gaze fixed on the ceramic bowl in front of you. At that, Ingrid left the room, mumbling something about putting the leftovers away. Once she was gone, Mapi turned back towards you, and you knew before she spoke that her voice would be that soft one she used, that always made you feel like crying.

“She didn’t know, mi sol.” Mapi murmured, watching your expression carefully. Her concern was for you but also for her girlfriend, who took every misstep with you like the world’s biggest failure.

“I know.” You said.

“She thinks you’re upset with her, but you aren’t, are you?”

“No. It's not her fault.”

“Maybe tell her that next time? Ingrid is really sensitive, nena. And you have every right to react and feel how you need to, but try to be a bit easier on your sister. She’s trying really hard.”

You bit your lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. You knew she was trying hard. Why did you have to make it so difficult for her? You didn’t say anything else, sitting completely silently as you finished your soup. Once you were done, you stood up from the couch, ignoring the way the room swirled around you, and the way your stomach turned at the movement.

“I’m going to lay in my bed.” You said quietly, avoiding eye contact with Mapi.

You thought Mapi was going to argue, make you stay downstairs, but she just nodded hesitantly, her gaze searching. “Okay. Shout or text if you need anything.”

You agreed, before you crept upstairs, avoiding the kitchen and your sister. She didn’t need to deal with you anymore than she already had today. No one did.

--------

Your goal of being as little trouble as possible after upsetting your sister turned out to be a lot harder to accomplish than you’d expected. Especially when the nausea caught up to you, and you found yourself stumbling towards the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible. You made it to the toilet, hoping that the sound your knees made when they dropped to the ground wasn’t as loud as it sounded to you. You were sick a few times, pausing briefly to catch your breath when you heard the door open behind you.

“Honey,” Ingrid sighed, moving closer to you, intending to take your hair from your hands and tie it back. You recoiled, though, sending her a harsh glare. It was like a switch had been flipped. You didn’t need this, this comfort. You’d gone your whole life without it, and you definitely didn’t need it now. You didn’t need it, didn’t want it, didn’t deserve it.

“Get out,” you managed, not too distracted by how sick you felt to miss the hurt look on Ingrid’s face.

“Solstråle,”

“Out, Ingrid,” you snapped, before you were overcome with nausea again. You leaned back over the toilet, this time too preoccupied to push Ingrid away when she kneeled next to you. Gently, she took your hair out of your hand, tying it back for you. Her hand found your back, then, rubbing soft circles over your tshirt.

“You’re okay, kjære, I’ve got you,” she murmured. She stayed with you until you were done, allowing you to collapse back into her, completely drained of energy.

“Better?” She asked quietly. You nodded slowly in response, limp against your sister.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, you’re sick.” Ingrid told you firmly. The door creaked open once more, and Mapi appeared, a wet washcloth in her hand. She gave it to your sister, who in turn put it on your forehead. You sighed in relief at the chill, but still, you hadn’t gotten your point across, and you couldn’t relax fully. Mapi stepped back out of the bathroom, giving you both some space.

“Sorry I snapped.”

You felt Ingrid sigh. “You don’t need to be sorry for that either. This is an adjustment for you, still, and you don’t feel well. I understand that you’re overwhelmed. It’s okay.”

There she was again, being so understanding and kind, when you’d been nothing but hostile and difficult to her. “It’s not okay. You’re being too nice.”

Your sister pulled you closer, resting her chin on the top of your head. “You deserve nice. You deserve to have people worry about you, and you deserve to have people that love you and want you to be okay.”

You weren’t really sure what to say to that.

A teardrop hit your hand where it was resting in your lap, and you realized you were crying.

You weren’t really sure what to say about that, either.

-------

Falling asleep after that probably would have been hard, if not for how tired you were. And if it weren’t for how your sister sat on your bed next to you, holding an ice pack to the back of your neck, running her nails up and down your back. It was like a tranquilizer, and you were out before you knew it.

Ingrid kept outdoing herself on the worried scale. Just when she thought she’d reach the peak of how much a person could worry about another person, something would happen with you, and it would get even worse. You looked younger as you slept next to her, your face devoid of the usual defensive mask you kept up. It made her sad, that you couldn’t just be a kid. You constantly felt like you had to protect yourself. She couldn’t blame you, not really. The issues you had weren’t issues that could just be fixed by a few kind words and promises. It was a process, one that wasn’t linear. This situation was clearly a step backwards; you hadn’t been this hostile with her since before. She hated it, hated seeing you sad or in pain. But right now, you were both.

Mapi had to practically drag her to bed. Ingrid didn’t want to leave you, but Mapi insisted that she would be no help to you if she didn’t sleep, and that they would leave both doors open, so they’d know if you needed them, though they hoped you wouldn’t.

It was only a few hours later, almost 2am, when loud coughing woke Mapi. It startled her from a light sleep, and she sat upright in the bed, shaking Ingrid awake next to her.

In your room, you felt like you were potentially suffocating, gasping for breath in between rounds of coughs. It barely registered when Ingrid and Mapi ran into your room, frantically turning on the lights. You could only look at them, completely panicked, as you fought to get enough air in.

It only took a second of listening to you for Ingrid to understand what was happening. “Asthma, she’s having an asthma attack. It must be worse because she’s sick.”

You hadn’t known Ingrid knew you had asthma. You’d only found out about it after she’d moved out, and you were sure your parents had forgotten as soon as they’d given you the inhaler the doctor had prescribed. You hadn’t had an asthma attack in a while, definitely not since you’d been in Spain. Ingrid was right, the illness must have triggered it. The issue was, though, that you were suddenly very unsure as to the location of your puffer.

Mapi was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, more panicked than you’d ever seen her. “What does she need? Water? Medicine? Tell me, I’ll get it,”

Ingrid shook her head, moving closer to grab your hand in hers, and press it to her chest. “Relax, you’re okay, everything is going to be fine. Where is your puffer?”

You wheezed in a big breath, trying to follow Ingrid’s chest rising and falling under your hand. “Don’t-Don’t know.” You gasped out. Tears were springing to your eyes, from panic or the violent coughing, you weren’t sure, and you reached out to grip onto Ingrid’s free hand, trying to convey your distress.

“It’s okay, I’ve got one. Mapi, the medicine cabinet. Top shelf, in a little box.” Ingrid instructed over her shoulder. The Spaniard took off out of the room, Scout barking at her from where he was pacing on the floor. You didn’t really process your words, another round of coughing wracking your chest.

“Ingrid, help,” you choked out.

Her expression was one of calmness and confidence, and it was the only thing keeping you from being convinced that you were about to pass out.

“Mapi’s getting it, solstråle, you’re okay.” She soothed, hearing her girlfriend’s footsteps thundering back down the hall. Mapi entered the room, almost falling in her haste to get to Ingrid. Once your sister had the box in hand, she whipped out the inhaler, batting your hands away when you tried to grab it. Instead, she held it to your mouth, instructing you to breathe in while she dispensed the medication. You took a few big inhales, relief filling your body as the drugs worked, and your lungs began to expand correctly again.

Your body untensed, and you collapsed back into the bed, chest still heaving slightly. Ingrid didn’t let go of your hand.

Mapi sagged onto the bed, the stress of the situation clearly getting to her.

“Okay, mi sol?”

“Good.” You told her, managing a thumbs up and a half smile. Ingrid brought her hand to your forehead, then, frowning.

“You need more cold medicine.” She decided, moving to rise from the bed. You clung to her, though, gripping her shirt in your hand. She looked down at it, then up at you, before slowly sitting back on the bed. “María?”

“On it.” Mapi said, rushing back out of the room, though significantly less frantically than she had before.

“Ingrid?”

“Hmm?” She replied, squeezing your hand once.

“How do you have one of my inhalers? I didn’t even know you knew I had asthma.”

Ingrid blinked at you. “I got one when you moved here, just in case. I knew because I talked to your doctor back home before you came, and he sent in the prescription so I could get an extra.”

“You… you talked to my doctor back home? Before I moved here?”

“Of course. I’d been gone awhile, and mom and dad told me nothing. I needed to know your medical history.” Ingrid said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. She was looking at you almost earnestly, like every word out of her mouth was true, and still a testament to how much she cared for you. How much she always had cared for you.

You were, once again, at a loss for words. Ingrid didn't seem like she wanted to push you into talking, though. She just helped you sit up as Mapi entered the room again, handing you your water and the pills she’d brought.

They both watched on, anxiously, as you took the pills. You studied them as you did so. They both looked exhausted and stressed, but for once, it didn’t make you feel bad.

All this time, they’d been telling you they cared, and you hadn’t been quite sure you believed it. Especially when you pushed away their attempts to show you that they cared. If you let them show you, though, it was something that could never be in doubt. They cared, and they loved you, and they clearly thought you were worth all of the trouble. Even when you were sick and grumpy and stubborn and hostile. They weren’t ever deterred.

You didn’t like to think of yourself as someone worth fighting for, someone worth the difficulty. And though it was still relatively incomprehensible that Ingrid and Mapi felt very much the opposite, it was something you were beginning to accept as fact.

And when your eyes began to close again, of their own accord, [or likely due to the nighttime cold medicine Mapi had brought you], you didn’t fight it. You knew they’d be there when you woke up, if you needed them. And even if you didn’t.

-------

More about Sol’s doctor-phobia coming soon 🙃🙃

hope you enjoyed and everything makes sense because it really might be a complete jumble of fever induced words.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #ingrid engen x mapí leon #ingrid engen x reader #mapi leon x reader #engen!reader #🍓☀️

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