Nursed back to health

[indecisivesock]

Nursed Back to Health Comment with your character, preferences, preferred role, and any information you'd like to include. Your character has either been injured/sick and had to be taken in (possibly against their will) or has been the one to help somebody like the former. Through the mending process, the two characters in a thread have fallen in love - or at least grown closer and more affectionate. Reply to others. Thread.

Comments

todoroki shouto | my hero academia | ota

[hairsplit]

[bakusatsugou]

[ Bakugou had meant to go down to the nurses office, a long trek but what'd felt like the only option he'd had at this point. when he'd gone to bed at nine he'd felt a little off, but whatever's up had escalated so quickly and had done so while he'd been asleep. at quarter past one he'd woken up suddenly, sweat soaked and freezing. it'd taken him time to even get himself out of bed.

stumbling to the elevator with a blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders, he'd managed to slump inside and hit the button to go down. with his head swimming from the sudden violent fever though, he'd faded out for a minute or two, and the elevator brought him all the way down, then back up again before he'd had a chance to react. had the doors already opened for him once before?

as he stumbles back off, all he's thinking is that this is bad. being out in the open air of the hallways had made him start shivering worse, and he just wants it to stop. his joints feel achy and he's so fevered that it's disorienting him.

he'd meant to take the elevator but, had he done that? he's standing in front of his door. he looks down the hallway to make sure he's judged the distance properly before he goes to open it. locked? no, he'd left it open. he'd sworn he'd just left it open. what the hell is going on!?

except this isn't his room. he'd gone all the way up to the fifth floor, and is now trying to break into Todoroki's room at two in the morning. his initial few soft turns of the knob quickly turn into an angry rattling as he finds himself without any other options than to just get inside already. ]

[hairsplit]

( at first, it's a small, subtle sound, like mice scratching under a floorboard or the wind creaking metal in the distance--and, had he been asleep, it's likely the sort of sound that he would have left alone, contending with his dreams rather than whatever might be stirring up the smallest trouble in reality. yet the slight turn of the door handle gives to a furious jiggling, up and down and up and down, and from where he's sat, legs crossed under the low table on the floor, he turns to look at it like he can't quite believe that it's happening. pranks on the dorm rooms had been short-lived, after all, and no one should be demanding entrance at two in the morning either way. judging by the silence of the hall, he had assumed everyone else to be asleep, anyway.

still, the door doesn't stop. he's a little worried that in the end it might just be loud enough for someone like sero to wake up, and feeling like he doesn't want to trouble anyone else, he pushes up onto his feet and hurries to the door. the lock turns, it creaks open, and-- )

...Bakugou? ( it's clear that he's confused: his eyes flicker over bakugou's face, and though he's leaning into the door to keep it open, he immediately reaches out his other arm to touch his shoulder. ) Come inside.

( a part of him does it because the hallway really is silent, and whatever bakugou wants out of him would be better kept behind a closed door, at the very least; a part of him does it because bakugou's hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, and his cheeks have an unusual flush to them, the kind that he might see in someone tempered down with fever and fatigue.

the door shuts behind them, once he's wrangled bakugou inside, and his eyes fall down the length of his body, then back up again. )

Did you take anything? ( he seems convinced that bakugou must be ill, but he worries that asking such an obvious question may result in the other screaming at him for his idiocy. he still asks anyway. ) You have a fever, don't you?

[bakusatsugou]

[ he's confused? when the door suddenly opens itself, Bakugou thinks he may be losing it. when Todoroki is standing there suddenly, he knows he must be. is this not his room? ]

Todoroki...?

[ being realistic with himself, it's possible he's ended up in the wrong place, but the usual energy it would take to care in a loud way had drained from him through the night. he even leans his weight into the touch on his shoulder, though not consciously. his body feels exhausted, and walking around has been a lot to manage.]

...Huh?

[ come inside? wait, is this his room? - he thinks for a second time. but no, this is not his room he realizes clearly as he's dragged in, and nothing is familiar. he feels like there's a hot wave washing over him, and his ears are aching, and now he has to deal with Todoroki being here? why is he here? ]

I don' have shit, [ he starts, reflexively. ] Dunno wha'the fuck I have, 'm-

[ he trails off a moment as his eyes squeeze closed, a chill moving through him and he clutches his blanket. is he swaying in place? because he feels a bit dizzy. he's definitely ill, but waking up in this state hadn't exactly made it easy to assess himself. ]

S'this your room?

[ does he even know where he is right now? that's mildly unclear. does he have a fever? he's not sure about that. clear-headed he'd be certain, but he's burning up too hot to feel perfectly coherent. ]

[hairsplit]

( such mild, mild reactions for someone usually so full of explosive energy. it makes his eyes narrow for a moment, and there's another glance, pulled along the blanket that bakugou has around his shoulders to the feverish flush to his cheeks; he should probably insist on escorting him back to his own room, but there's the fear that exhaustion might strike him before they reach it, and he isn't sure he wants to have to explain bakugou's sweaty body collapsed in the middle of the hall. still--is he going to let him do anything to help?

he decides that it isn't a matter of permission, and one, instead, of necessary urgency. both of his hands land on bakugou's shoulders, leading him forward slightly towards the tatami. normally he'd be a lot more fastidious about having bakugou take off his shoes and all of that; for now, he puts the thought aside, guides him to it with the relief that at least if he collapses forward, the knock of his head will be against something a little softer. )

Yes, this is my room. ( he doesn't have to say it, but answering feels correct anyway. ) You're going to rest here.

( the futon, at least, is already laid out--he doesn't think about where he's going to sleep, if bakugou takes it, and reasons that likely he won't be sleeping at all. carefully, his hands draw back from the other's shoulders; he doesn't want to push him any more than he already has, doesn't want to risk this tentative ceasefire with too much touching.

instead, he moves around him, bare feet coming up to the edge of the futon that's set up for sleep despite having avoided sleeping entirely. carefully, fluidly, he sinks to his own knees, drawing back the blanket before glancing up at bakugou with a measured gaze. )

Here. ( as if he hadn't been clear before. one hand reaches out to pat the futon, beckoning. ) You can make it, can't you?

( issuing some sort of challenge may be an easy way to get him to comply, after all. )

[bakusatsugou]

[ when had Todoroki put hands on his shoulders? hadn't he left his room trying to get to the nurse? what'd happened with that stupid elevator? his mind is so muddied he can't keep it all straight.

luckily he's only wearing a pair of indoor slippers, so he won't destroy the expensive flooring. fancy asshole. he's too out of it to give the reaction Todoroki deserves over how extravagant this dorm room is, either. he'd never had reason to come by here before, but it's way too much. this suddenly stark change in environment isn't helping his confusion over the situation. ]

Like hell--

[ there's enough brain left in him to protest the suggestion that he rest right now after he'd struggled so hard with himself to make it here, even if he'd let himself be pushed further along. once Todoroki's steadying grip leaves him though, he widens his stance to make sure he'll be steady and glares. ]

'm not laying down yet--the hell're you doin'!?

[ alright, he's not steady. so he leans against the closest surface he can find, wiping his brow as he sweats over the exertion it's taking just to have this conversation coherently. he fixes the futon with a glare, feeling himself shivering and doing everything he can to ignore it, cheeks tight with his teeth clamped together. ]

I gotta see Recovery Girl...

[ grit out with his jaw still locked, he clenches his eyes shut as a wave of cold-heat washes through him. in the next moment it lets up, and he tries to relax his shoulders, taking a deliberately slow breath in and then out. ]

you're totally fine! ♥ and no worries about replying either if you're not interested

[hairsplit]

( well, there is some merit to the plan, or at the very least, it shows that bakugou isn't quite as far gone as he might seem. at least he's able to reason together something other than falling face first into an expensive bed, though there's a soft sigh from his lips, narrowing his eyes as they move up to look at him again. bakugou's leaning against one of the dressers, smearing sweat all over the dark wood, and the little trinkets neatly set on top of it are clattering with the effort it takes for bakugou to shiver; they're not going to make it down the hall, he's not going to be able to hold him up and call at the same time. besides, it's the middle of the night.

with another small breath, he abandons the futon, pushing back up onto his feet. rather than afford bakugou the space, like approaching a wounded animal, he walks slowly in front of him, taking him firmly by the shoulders again. )

Ten minutes. ( said calmly, in his usual low voice, glancing between bakugou and the rest of the room. he isn't actually going to be able to calculate an accurate ten minutes, but that doesn't matter, either. ) Lie down for ten minutes, and then we'll go.

( pointedly, he gives a gentle pull at the front of the blanket, where it's wrapped around bakugou's shoulders, almost like he's tethering him along away from the wall. the futon is just a few steps behind him, if he can wrangle them together; then again, he doesn't know how he's going to be able to get bakugou on it if he doesn't want to be, but there's only so much he can do. )

I have a fever patch. If you lay down, I can find it for you.

i totally am!! i started it after all >:}

[bakusatsugou]

[ saying no to making himself vulnerable is a knee-jerk reaction that doesn't take too much active brain power, especially given the circumstances. how had he ended up hanging out with Todoroki, again? this is far from ideal.

he huffs when hands are on his shoulders again, but he's just so damn cold, the part of him that very much is vulnerable right now wants to lean in, to accept some sort of help, but he'll die before he allows that. it isn't even skin on skin contact with his blanket in the way, but when he reaches up to grab Todoroki's wrist, he can feel his warmth.

how bad is this fever? he hasn't had a clear moment to reflect on himself, on how it could be serious in some way considering how off everything felt. his skin is sensitive from it, everything sore and uncomfortable. the futon would be okay, if he thought he'd be able to get up again once he went down. ]

That sh-shit's for kids.

[ he hadn't used a damn fever patch since elementary - and whether he's right or not is hardly the point. groaning softly, he shudders again, jaw clenching and unclenching as he fights the tension in his muscles. fuck. fuck this. he still has a grip on the other boy and it's grounding him in ways he's too distracted to acknowledge.

the shivering is bad and he should lay his ass down, make this easy for the both of them. instead he huffs, his grip tightening.]

It's too f-fffucking c-cold. Can't you w-warm it up!?

[ voice scraping, breaking with frustration. not thinking of anything besides how awful this feels, Todoroki might be better than a patch if he could keep his room above sub-fucking-zero. or is that just how it feels to him right now? either way, this dumbass could do something about it, couldn't he? Katsuki isn't so far gone that he's forgotten their quirks. ]

♥!

[hairsplit]

( there's another breath, pulsed from between his lips, but like always, he finds that there's little response he can give to the words that tumble out of bakugou's mouth, blistering and demanding as they are. arguing has never really been a skill of his, especially not against someone like this; he's more the type to shrug a cold shoulder and keep himself sheltered away from everyone else, finding that a more applicable use than engaging in something so heated. even with bakugou's hand on his wrist, it doesn't feel as tight as it should: that tells him a lot more than bakugou's words do, and though he could probably wrench himself free of the grip, he doesn't.

rather, his hands take either corner of the blanket wrapped around him, pulling at it gently to afford a small pocket of space in front of him. it's almost like a shield, in some ways, and he's sure the movement will likely agitate bakugou further, but he's had worse, hasn't he? with one small step, he pivots forward; they're nearly chest to chest, now, though he can feel the shivering sickness that seems to radiate off of all of bakugou's limbs this way. )

It's not going to help. ( he feels he has to say this, almost like a disclaimer, to start: because the only thing that's going to help is rest and medicine, maybe even some water, if he thinks bakugou could manage it. ) Tell me when you've had enough.

( it still bothers him, sometimes, thinking of the divide within himself: but there's no one in this room but the two of them, and bakugou probably isn't going to remember much of anything. with a sigh, his chin hooks over bakugou's shoulder, almost like he's hugging him without his arms wrapped around him; his hands let go of the blanket corners, now that he's infiltrated, and though his right hand is tethered in the other's grip, his left hand is free. carefully, he skates gentle fingertips along the sweat-soaked fabric of bakugou's shirt, touching along his back with the absolute bare minimum of heat he can manage to create.

it's a little scary, in some ways. the smallest fidget or jerk of thought could light them both up in flames, but he isn't thinking it. instead, he's focused on curving the rest of his body in close, almost like between his hand and his chest, bakugou might find some small hint of relief. if not, he'll at least take pleasure in bodily pushing him aside--either way, bakugou gets something out of it. )

oh no this is...extremely cute...

[bakusatsugou]

[ his eyes screwed shut as he shudders from his kneecaps to jaw bone, he can feel the other boy rearranging his blanket, but doesn't have the mind and strength to do much about it. he would claim, if asked, that he is extremely annoyed, but he's not playing the part tonight.

still, Todoroki is close in his space and he wants to move away. just not as badly as he wants to feel some kind of stable, and his body is screaming at him to warm up. he didn't give a fuck what the other said, if it warmed up enough then it was bound to work. how could getting warmer right now not be the right thing to do? ]

S--su-

[ no, talking isn't working. he cuts himself off with a frustrated huff, voice rasping with frustration in the back of his throat and if Todoroki thinks he's going to say when, he may be, for the first time, overestimating him. considering when the other boy hooks a chin over his shoulder, the only retaliation he receives is his wrist back as Bakugou fists into his shirt instead. his subconscious made to shove him off, to regain his space, but it isn't just the scarce flame helping now.

Todoroki's body is warm, though they're not pressed together, no part of him wants to move away. fire is dangerous, even in this state he's semi-aware of that, but he focuses on what he'd asked for: heat. taking slower, deep breaths, something is ragged in his chest and he still pauses on every few exhales to shudder.

overall though, as they stand together, things get better. he starts to shudder less often, and starts to instead feel exhaustion dragging on him. it's just, he never gets to a point where he feels like he's had enough. while Todoroki had wanted him to lay down, he's found the comfort he'd been looking for standing here with him now, and out of his mind as he is, he finds himself leaning into that point of contact, hand still wrapped up in his shirt. ]

[hairsplit]

( he waits for that inevitable shift: bakugou's hand, fisted into the fabric of his sleep shirt, likely means that a shove is incoming, or that maybe he's going to sock him right in the stomach; his breath catches, evening out with a sigh, but the movement never comes. perhaps he needs the balance, or maybe he just wants to reassure that he stays there, steady, and doesn't come any closer than necessary. with his chin hooked over bakugou's shoulder, he doesn't think he could get closer, anyway.

the silence is surprising, but for someone who spends so little time speaking himself, it doesn't bother him. with his eyes closed, he tries to focus on the path of his fingertips--they map out the ridges of bakugou's spine, at first, tense as it is, before moving up over the backs of his shoulders, down to the blades of them, and then across the small of his back. concentration becomes less and less necessary as the heat settles into his hand in a way that's more comfortable; still, he doesn't want to lose himself in the sensation and cause damage for either one of them.

it's somewhere near the point where bakugou leans forward, in against him, that he lets out another puff of breath: this one, although still a sigh, sounds almost fond in its resignation. )

...I'll keep you warm if you lay down. ( this, he figures, is an easy compromise--just as much as it's an easy threat. ) But we're not standing all night.

( his voice is calm and low, like it always is; but his hand brushes away from the back of bakugou's shirt as though to indicate that he does, in fact, mean business. )

Are we in agreement?

[bakusatsugou]

[ steady is how it feels, for the first moment since he'd woken up with this, as they stand together. testament to the fact that he really isn't in his right mind, he's managed to find some comfort in Todoroki. it isn't like he hates him, anyway.

it isn't like he likes him either - their (friend?)ship just kinda is, though Katsuki's always somehow wrapped up in his business. sticking his nose in it, more like it. not that he'll ever see any of it that way - despite his occasional eavesdropping often being intentional. he doesn't care; they're just classmates, occasionally teammates, and he definitely isn't leaning in this half-state just because it's Shouto.

maybe he woulda leaned on anyone with fire fingers. they won't know now, so it doesn't matter. all that does, is that the heat coupled with the tickling distraction of fingers moving down his back distracts him enough that he's able to relax. unclench. feels like his jaw might crack, but his fist releases the other's shirt just as he's given an ultimatum.

lay down and stay warm, or refuse and...well, leave. because what else is there to do at that point? decision making is fuzzy. it's warmth first and foremost so that makes it easy.]

Whatever-

[ less tense, he's able to get his words out, even if he doesn't want to speak. he's not negotiating right now so, there. but he's also not going to fight, which he hopes is what he's conveyed there. brief but to the point. whatever. ]

Still not sleepin' h-here.

[ the shivers are still there, sickness uncaring if he's running hot or not. his shirt is so damp though he'd been getting chilly. it might actually serve him to take a hot shower, so he won't be as combustible for one, but he isn't prepared to do that. not enough energy to even consider it. all he has it in him to do is sway with the intention to break away from the other's embrace - stubborn to the core despite every other sense he has telling him to stay close to the heat. if he has to lay down then fucking fine, but he'll do it himself. ]

[hairsplit]

( it's obvious in the way that bakugou moves that he's at least intending to lay down despite his qualms with it--the sway, though, catches his gaze, and though he's shifting away from him, drawn out of the safety of the blanket, one hand steadies, gentle on bakugou's waist as though to hold him there and right his balance. he knows that's going to get him into trouble: likely in the way that bakugou is going to bark some insult at him, or get irritated with the touch, but it's over soon enough. with one last wary glance, he moves away entirely.

these sorts of things have to be done in pieces. just like bakugou hadn't forgotten about the useful touch of a warm hand--and, later on, perhaps the useful touch of a cold one--he hasn't forgotten that the more bakugou tenses up, sweating into the fabric of his shirt, the more dangerous it is should his volatile irritation get the best of him. the thought of talking him out of his clothes is considered, but oddly, he dismisses not because he thinks it wouldn't be possible, but more because it gives him a strange shiver of embarrassment. having bakugou shirtless in his futon is a thought that he's not going to acknowledge--like it isn't the first time he's thought of it.

distracted by himself, he's a little less sure of his own movements when he steps back, moves around, pads to the futon and crouches down beside it again. the blanket's still peeled back, ready to be pulled and wrapped around, and uselessly, his hands push and plump the pillow up like it matters. it doesn't. after all, like he said, bakugou isn't going to sleep here--even so, carefully, he inches back from the futon, settles down on top of his folded legs, and waits.

bakugou can take as much time as he wants. honoring his silent wishes, he isn't going to get up and help him unless he collapses. )

[bakusatsugou]

[ the way he pushes that hand on his waist away is so automatic he barely realizes he does it, though the gesture lacks the same bite that he's been lacking all-around tonight. it's a simple shove, knee-jerk and thoughtless.

he'll apologize later for the handprints he'd left behind on the dresser, much less of a concern than the sweat that still clings to his body. volatility is more of an issue than overheating, and he knows it from the few times he'd been fevered with chills and sweats in the past. this is the first time he's been sick like this where he doesn't have a parent throwing him into the tub. he doesn't need help with his own body - always what he tells himself, even when he could use it, even when the steadying hand at his waist could have been a help instead of something to throw him off.

the same subconscious hanging onto memories of times he'd scorched wallpaper or bedsheets held memories of times Todoroki had put hands on him otherwise, friendly or during a spar, and none of them are being considered appropriately. now that he'd been warmed, he's staying warm.

in fact, he's too warm. maybe Todoroki hadn't stopped the heat, though he can't see any fire in his hands. doesn't matter. without thinking, he pulls his blanket from around his shoulders and throws it down on top of the futon, suddenly flushed with a roll of heat that keeps moving cheek to toe in waves. this is so fucking annoying that he grumbles, eyes closed for a moment as he hovers a few steps away. his shirt is soaked, plastered to the center of his chest and over a few of his abs, and he reaches up to wipe the back of his neck. his blanket had been plastered to it as well, his hair damp and matted on the back of his head, sweat all over his hand.

then, as he takes another step towards the futon, he stumbles and falls to a knee. it shouldn't be anything, but his outstretched palm is knocked from where he braces himself against the floor as it sends off an impact explosion, the tatami scorched as he lands down on his shoulder instead. there's no chain reaction, the sweat on the rest of his body not quite as volatile, but he's still embarrassed. he'd replace the floor - more concerned that he'd lost control of himself.

a frustrated sound rasps in his throat, fists clench up, absolutely unprepared to deal with this as he rights himself. ]

Fuck--

[ bit out, stubborn attitude the only thing helping him get through any of this in the first place. pros and cons. he'll fix it. had he said that out loud yet? if he hadn't, he'll revisit it when he can think straight. instead, he continues, again as if the cherry bomb explosion had been casual, and climbs onto the futon. ]

[hairsplit]

( the tatami is scorched, the sound of that little dropped explosion muffled immediately by the weight of it, the blitz of a boom, the snap and crackle--and despite the suddenness of it, the harsh rasp of the expletive past bakugou's lips, he sits, oddly calm, at the edge of the futon, waiting.

in his youth, when he'd been much younger, it had been far easier to startle him like that. his father's behavior and temper, the state of the others in the house, it had all slowly honed his reactions away, scrubbed and sanded them down until he managed to keep them thoroughly restrained; even now, where his shoulders should have at least jerked in instinct at the sound, there's just the small part of his lips, the inhale of a breath, and then his gaze, narrowed, follows bakugou's movements for further disturbance. it takes a lot not to reach out to help him: he knows that he would hate it, too, if someone tried to assist him when he didn't want it.

the tatami doesn't matter. the scorching doesn't matter. his father will pay to have it restored. in some ways, it amuses him to think of his father being put out by it to begin with.

even as bakugou seems to right himself, rolling onto the futon and the doubled blankets, he watches for a moment: waits for all that sweat to condense down again into something a little more dangerous, but it doesn't happen. true, without that blanket of his wrapped around his shoulders, it must mean that the fever's wave has shifted to something more infuriatingly warm; it may have been better for him to use his other hand to begin with after all. quietly, after allowing bakugou to settle himself more comfortably, he moves closer, pulling at the sweat-soaked blanket so that it isn't smashed between them and the futon and leaving it aside on the floor. )

I think we should take you to the baths. ( he says this calmly, quietly, as though he's just finally coming to the realization--he has no idea how he's going to wrangle bakugou down there, but he thinks it's something that likely has to be done. ) In a little while.

( carefully, he slides to sit at the head of the futon: he sits carefully, on folded legs, and reaches with his right hand to gently, meticulously, start to peel bakugou's sweat-soaked bangs from his forehead. once they're moved out of the way, it's his palm that settles there, brushing gently along his temple, down to his cheek, running fingertips along his jaw with the aid of a cool, frigid touch.

it might be more effective if he gets on the futon with him--but he has to work his way to that. step by step. )

Does it hurt anywhere?

[bakusatsugou]

[ there's no comfortable in this state, not in any shape or form but todoroki's been making it as nice as possible for him and without realizing it, he's slowly but surely allowing himself to be cared for. there feels to be a lack of other options, but that's not true, is it? he's simply decided that the current option is just fine. he allows his blanket to be pulled away just as he allows the other boy to move closer; if he'd ended up in kaminari or uraraka's rooms he wouldn't have laid down unless he'd passed out.

still best todoroki hadn't tried to help him, but that's just another reason his sick brain had led him here and not somewhere else. katsuki doesn't have to explain all of that shit around him, it's just easier to be rough around the edges and not be looked down on or babied for it. how many times had he almost fucking died in the past few years? he'd make it through a stupid fever.

at least, he's telling himself that while it feels like he's half-dead now as he lays with his fists clenched, jaw set tight as sweat beads around his hairline. the chill he'd been riding since he'd shown up hadn't been the dangerous bit - it's the sweats from the heatwave that'd plastered his clothes to him earlier on, threatening now to soak through the futon, to watch for.

a grunt is all he gives in response to the musings about the bath. so long as he can walk it's a safe bet, though an ambitious plan. still potentially better than blowing a hole in the side of the dorms but for now he settles for trying not to feel overwhelmed as he lays still, focuses on the feeling of his hair being moved. it's soothing in a passive way, and more comfortable pulled back.

more than anything else the cool touch is welcome, a sigh of some relief as it trails down the side of his face, a bead of sweat slowed in its path from his brow down his cheek. ]

No.

[ he grits, and doesn't think about it when he reaches up to take todoroki's wrist to urge the cold touch further down his neck. there's no volatility in this, he's just burning hot and can feel his whole body beading with sweat. his shoulders and his legs are aching but he's not about to tell him about it no matter his state, not unless he has to. just this is enough for now. ]

[hairsplit]

( it might not hurt now, but he thinks that it will, later, when bakugou wakes in the morning: he imagines that all of his limbs will be hard and stiff, his stomach clenched in discomfort, that his body will revolt after spending a night shivering and shaking, tense and unhappy. he just doesn't know if there's any way that he can help that at all; it means that his mouth is fit into one unhappy line, turning over options silently in his head as he considers them. the best option is still the bath, of course, a plan which he knows he's just going to have to will into existence. he'll have to bring a change of clothes, too, and his own towel...

the details are lining up, slowly but surely, and it's this distraction, embedded deep in his head, that makes it a surprise when bakugou takes his wrist and guides his hand down further, towards his neck; he could say something, of course, and chooses not to, instead just letting out a slow breath through his nose as he palms along the side of bakugou's neck, dipping fingertips beneath the collar of his shirt without hesitation or even a bid for permission. there, his hand walks over his collarbones, reaches down to the head of his chest, careful to give only the faintest hint of cooling, there, like he's worried he might startle and go overboard.

just like the fire, just like that little explosion: he imagines it won't help things much if he encases the whole dorm room in ice. )

...Can I take your shirt off? ( it could be humorous, especially coming from him, in that low, practical voice--he doesn't even realize it could be interpreted a different way, too focused on trying to calm bakugou's body down before attempting the impossible. ) I'll be careful.

( gently, as though to prove his point, his hand moves up again, touching gently up to bakugou's jaw, holding a cool palm against his cheek as he waits. this, he figures, definitely requires permission. )

[bakusatsugou]

[ it's already the middle of the night - no way is he going to be feeling right as day by sunrise. if he manages to at least break his fever by then, he'll have reason to be thankful.

the touch is nothing to think twice about. Katsuki's just using cold fingertips to soothe himself, not thinking of any intimate implications of how he's grabbed hold and pulled when he's rarely even allowed the other boy to touch him if they weren't trying to kill each other - even then, rare they were sparring close-combat.

not to say he hadn't thought about it otherwise. those impulses are there enough to leak out now while his tired brain is oozing with fever, but not all that intentionally. now he's falling into his own world, eyes closed and brows pinched as he fights the way his head spins, hot - so hot-- he leans into the touch along his collar bone. the breath is ragged in his chest, sweat pooled between his pecs as Todoroki cools it, goosebumps prickling up his skin despite the warm flush he's sporting. ]

Th'fuck're--you sayin'...?

[ it takes him two deep breaths to get the words out, not sure how to take it besides being asked to be naked. why? his shirt off? it's not even logic he's working with now, it's just the instinct to feel like it's not going to make a damn difference. a shirt, or sheets, or a sweater, or whatever is going to get soaked through if he feels this clammy. he feels like he's suffocating as the roiling swelter moves through him again and his pinched brow quivers, eyes still closed as he mindlessly leans into the ice pack.

oh, not a pack. just Todoroki's hand on his cheek. doesn't make a difference to him right now, just feels good, so he leans. ]

'm...n-no. don't ff--don't, 'm fffine.

[ a reflex expression to get anyone to leave him be at this point - because he doesn't want to move, or think. no, that's not right; he just can't. he wants to and he can't, and he's too exhausted to get properly angry about it, words stuttering and distracted. much as he wants to manage himself, he's just sick. he's really burning up again, and starting to glaze around the edges, but he still hasn't let go of Todoroki's wrist, holding him close. ]

[hairsplit]

( a calculated risk: that he might say it and anger bakugou, that he might flare up and then fizzle out just as quickly. as it is, the reaction that he gets to the question is just as surprisingly mild as the rest of them; it doesn't bother him to have the refusal, doesn't worry him or make him feel self conscious, but rather he just thinks of it as one other plan, gently crossed off the list. it would have been safer, and easier, for the both of them if he could have peeled it off his skin, sweat soaked and stained, but as it is, he'll have to work with what he's got. the last thing that bakugou wants to do is think, or move, and that might work even more in his favor.

it's the hold on his wrist that he feels apologetic for, because as much as he wants to let bakugou hold it there and find solace in his weight, to make it better, it first has to get worst: so his fingers slip, pulled carefully from a hard jaw and sloped cheek, escaping the clammy hand that holds it close. then it's his own legs, shifting against the tatami, moving so that he can twist and slide himself down onto the futon at bakugou's side. there's not too much room from where he's sprawled out--but there's enough for him to lay half on the mattress, and half off of it; it doesn't bother him, angling himself close so that he drape his cold half over bakugou's side, laying almost on top of him.

if anything is going to give, it'll be now. if bakugou's going to explode with anger, it'll be now. and if he stays like this, in that mood where he can barely muster up the words for complaint, too tired and worn out and exhausted to bother? then this might help for awhile.

with his hot half smothered into the tatami, his ice pack hand--as bakugou would likely be calling it, if he had the energy--tucks itself into the crook of his neck, hovering a cool touch over the throbbing pulse point there to try to stem its discomfort. the less he thinks about it, truthfully, the easier it is: he isn't overwhelming, isn't particularly sharp about his attempt, but instead it's like a wave of a cool breeze, forced through layers of fabric and easier where skin meets skin. steadily, slowly, he stays there stiffly, not jostling or disturbing bakugou anymore than he has to: though honestly, if he keeps this up until morning, he thinks he'll be too worn out to move himself. keeping bakugou cold, but temperate, does take a little finesse.

his chin rests, hooked against bakugou's shoulder, and he lets out a soft sigh, trying to find solace in the wet, damp feeling of fever sweat between them, and the feeling of his quirk. )

[bakusatsugou]

[ safety isn't on his damn mind right now, despite his own body being the mounting hazard in question. not like he doesn't whip his shirt off half the time anyway - there may be another opportunity but asking him straight up for much of anything is bound to receive some push back, even in this half-state.

the loss of the cold hand just flat out sucks, a short huff of indignation out his nose all he can muster as he shudders. he shouldn't be able to shudder when he's feeling this fucking hot. if he had the energy he would be annoyed about this; he'd be annoyed about fucking all of this.

the last time he'd shared a bed had been quite some time ago, so the feeling of Todoroki sliding in beside him is palpable enough to get him to turn his head, eyes slipping open for a peek though not quite looking. a few fever tablets would take the edge off but he'd have to settle for a bunk buddy, as that was what the universe was offering up as he glazed right over. there's no cognitive connection happening between being asked to take his shirt off and Todoroki sliding in next to him, no sharp flare as all of his complicated feelings pushed him to embarrassed and cage, only weight against his side and the burn of his thighs cramping up.

what he did still have the energy to react to was his personal space being invaded. fist still balled tense, he bend his arm and extended his elbow into Todoroki's side. ]

S'way, mmh--nnh-ver...f'cker--

[ little murmurs of complaint that last about as long as the pressure he exerts with his shove-away. as soon as cool air floods back over him he relaxes, breathing deep, a soft little moan escaping parted lips as he feels some sort of relief again. he'd been less out of it before the heat had started up again, but a breaking point won't come until morning if they're talking bones involved.

his breathing is still harsh and somewhat unsteady, but as he relaxes his bent arm, his hand falls limp and he twists fingers to loosely hold Todoroki's forearm again, anchoring himself to his source of comfort; unspoken don't stop lingering there as he feels his temperature start to even out again.

it takes a minute or two, heavy scent of burnt sugar lingering in the air as he sweats it out, the soft, cool puffs of Todoroki's breath against his neck something soothing to absently focus on behind the darkness of his eyelids. he could stare at the ceiling, at the other boy, at anything else, but he's so exhausted he doesn't want the extra sensory input. as much as the chill helps, the dampness covering him makes it a real chill - though the other boy is damn good at his craft, it's still going to be difficult to find even ground without that bath first. a hot-box in the en-suite may have to do in the end, if only to take care of how damp he is. ]

[hairsplit]

( in some ways, this feels like another puzzle that they've been presented with in class, another riddle to try to figure out. if it were a test, if he had been graded on his bedside manner, he imagines that he would rank somewhat low, given how easily he's tempered himself to bakugou's desires. he should have just gone for the fever patch, some medicine, and pushed him down to the tatami beneath the weight of the comforter; at least then the fever might have started to break by now, no matter how uncomfortable the entire thing would have been. he might have gotten a wayward fist in the face, or worse, more of those little explosions as fatigue, irritation, and ego warred with each other, and it would have drawn the attention of their classmates on the floor, but: that would have probably, in the end, been the safer route.

so then why had he done all this? a part of him felt oddly sympathetic about the whole thing: as though seeing bakugou's brow creased with sweat and pain and discomfort meant giving whatever he could to try to rectify it. perhaps he still isn't as good at thinking on his feet as he should be--where he should be able to quickly weigh the pros and cons and proceed with the best plan put forth. maybe in some way, he had selfishly wanted to be close to bakugou--or maybe he had just wanted to stretch out on the futon and lay down himself. a myriad of options, but trying to figure out the reasoning isn't going to help things. once again, like always, he's falling into the black hole of his thoughts and assumptions.

a cool, quiet breath--a pulse against bakugou's neck. the skin there is damp, and so is the collar of his shirt; this time, when he sighs, it's one of reluctant displeasure.

he can't keep this up forever. no matter if he could correctly make up for the soaked fabric and alternate between the gentlest cool and the gentlest hot, it wouldn't matter. he needs to go back to being practical: and that means, unfortunately, that their short stint on the futon isn't going to last for long. despite the way that bakugou's fingers loosely hold his arm, he carefully wrenches himself free of the touch: with another slow breath, he elbows himself to sit up, reaching down only once he's steadied himself to do what he thinks will be the absolute worst thing he's done all night.

that is: his arms hook in between bakugou's back and the futon, and hauling him up, he firmly drapes bakugou in against his chest, slightly over his shoulder, struggling with a sharp breath of dismay to get to his feet. once they're both upright, he tests his balance: bakugou isn't too heavy, but he's heavy enough that the movements are clumsy, at first, as he tries to find his footing on the tatami instead of the plush weight of the futon, draping bakugou halfway over the shelf of his shoulder to essentially carry him, arms wrapped firmly around his weakened body. )

The bath. ( --is what he says by way of explanation. once they get there, he can snag some of the medicine from downstairs. it's the best plan he's got, but as he starts to walk them both towards his door, he realizes that it's going to take a lot of patience to even get there. ) We're going.

[bakusatsugou]

[ incapacitated as he is, it could be argued on todoroki's behalf that he's a lot nicer to be close to than he normally tends to be. justified in just about everything he's done here - as he'd had every right to just shut the door in katsuki's face, any effort has been more than he shoulda done. with a clearer head he'd be berated for not just having the sense to call a teacher, but tonight if he hadn't had this? he may have just been passed out in the hallway until morning.

sucked back into his own head, bakugou counts each time the soft breeze of todoroki's breath ghosts over his neck, warmer than the hand on him and still cooler than his skin. it feels like he's suffocating through a humid night in july, fan on full blast, oscillating. back and forth. over and over. soothing as it is dizzying as he lays flat on his back and feels himself sway behind the darkness of his lids.

pays no mind to the way his grip is jostled, but having todoroki sit up is a real disruption that gets his brows drawn in and his lips drawn tight. if that were the only disruption - he may have been able to deal with it. instead, he's being hauled up, pressure against his armpits reminding him his skin is actually on fire and it's sore and he groans against the movement. if that'd been it - if he'd been yanked up to lean in against the other boy's chest for a more immersive HVAC experience - then he maybe even could have dealt with that.

then he's being hauled up, every place his body had been resting weight against the floor suddenly suspended, gravity dragging his limbs down, todoroki's shoulder pressed into his fucking chest, and he musters whatever strength he has to protest. first that looks like an elbow jabbed into the back of his neck. ]

Pu' me...down--

[ he can walk! actually, no. he absolutely can't. is this what he needs? he doesn't know what the fuck he needs, or even really exactly what's going on. it doesn't stop him from struggling, wiggling instinctively against being grabbed even as he finds todoroki's body to still be a cool rock to rest against. his other hand braces against the other boy's back, not sure what to do with himself, not used to being manhandled like a ragdoll considering anyone else trying this in any other situation would be dead before they even got the chance and here he is unable to push himself free. ]

[hairsplit]

( it is perhaps the one unique situation where he will be able to say he manhandled bakugou and got away with it: though he isn't really thinking in terms of bragging rights, or even in terms of soft, surprised thoughts to linger on in the dead of night. right now, his mind is determined to focus only on the tasks that need to be done, and how to accomplish them. he's thinking in terms of survival, though he knows it's not as though bakugou is going to expire somewhere between the elevator and the bath--but if he doesn't focus on something, he's going to end up on the futon again with a lap full of feverish explosives.

he has to push forward. being the baby in his family means that he's never quite adapted to the idea of having to be the caretaker, despite the way that he does it anyway--gentle, small helpful things, quiet encouragements, and even now, he wants to tell bakugou that it's for his own good, that he's doing his best, but he doesn't want to start an argument. first things first, after he regains his balance: he has to make it to the door. with bakugou draped against him, his mind focuses half on walking, half on keeping that side of him a temperate cool beneath bakugou's body; it means his own breath is pulsing, slightly, as he finally creaks the door to the room open, and waits.

silence. no other doors are open: no one is out in the hall talking. should he be taking bakugou to someone else? maybe to yaoyorozu, or even midoriya? no--there's no point in involving anyone else, especially at this point; if anything, he should have alerted a teacher, but even that doesn't seem quite right. aizawa-sensei would probably be a better caretaker than he is, but then he wouldn't have accomplished anything but relying on someone else, again, to solve problems for him.

with his arms firmly around bakugou, determined, he makes his way to the elevator. the sound of the dorm door, closing behind him, echoes in the distance; but still, it doesn't arouse any attention. by the time they make it into the elevator, even he's sweating a little: it's the combination of exertion, focus, and bakugou's sweaty body rubbing against him; he lets out a long breath, as the elevator begins its descent down. )

Any change? ( he says, softly, trying to keep bakugou at least conscious. ) I won't ask if there's any pain.

( that seems like something that would get a shut up, half-and-half bastard in reply. )

[bakusatsugou]

[ when struggling in the first ten seconds gets him nowhere, he's got no choice but to concede as his body throbs, lungs compressed by the position with breath already labored from effort. he can't stand feeling this weak, anger flaring best it can beneath the dredge of fever and pushing out in a rasped groan as he bemoans his situation.

being walked isn't a smooth ride. bony shoulder is jabbing into his chest, and in an effort to leverage himself some comfort he grips into todoroki's shirt and yanks, quite mindlessly, being a nuisance to get himself dropped while simultaneously holding on tight. they get to the door and katsuki realizes he's still being kept cool as another heat wave pushes through him, like a goddamn allergic reaction crawling beneath his skin in a ripple.

when had things gotten more sturdy? he feels held, though his other hand finds purchase todoroki's waistband, thumb dipping below as he holds on reflexively. has the other boy always been this solid? he's always looking down on him, flexing on him, thinking highly of himself but he's being right properly transported.

the elevator? the light is stark and he opens his eyes, having entirely missed out on the hallway. ]

Unh-nh--

[ no. fuck no, there's been no change besides him just being jostled around. the idea of being in a warm bath seems at once tantalizing and repulsive, but he's willing to go along with it because anything is better than just laying around sustained in hell. that, and he still doesn't have much energy to protest. being caried there on the other hand is still something he's not square with. ]

Le'mie..down...f-f'ker...

[ stubborn to death, he remembers he's got hands on him and he thumps his fist against shouto's back. fucker; saying he's not going to ask is asking when it's like that. even now, he'd rather limp there with a supportive arm around his shoulders than be handled like this, and it's not helping him feel better to have realized he's got a lack of choice in the matter. frustration runs deep, he still feels the lick of it despite his limbs being raw from tension and exhaustion and it does hurt but at least he's got his little AC unit going. ]

[hairsplit]

( at the very least, bakugou doesn't make a scene in the hallway: he considers this a success. even as he's jostled, slightly, the hands clawing at his back enough to make him consider, out of his own rundown patience, to dump bakugou onto the elevator floor and be done with it--he takes in a soft, steadying breath, ignoring the fist that thumps menacingly against his back. at best, bakugou could probably give him a bruise, in this state, or singe his hair with a little frustrated explosion; he might even bite him, but more than that, he thinks that bakugou's exhaustion is strong enough that he isn't risking anything beyond it. on his part, he retains his silence: he's still thinking of keeping him just cool enough to tolerate the excursion.

by the time the elevator dings their arrival, he can feel a bit of exhaustion tugging at him--silently, patiently, he makes his way out of the elevator with bakugou still draped over his shoulder. the common floor is silent, the lights darkened for the night, and he uses the small lamps, left on just in case, to find his way from the elevator down the way to the washroom, breath panting slightly with effort. by the time he makes it to the doors that will give way to the changing area and then the shower stalls beyond, his arms are tense, slowly pulling up to square his shoulders and crouch enough to finally plant bakugou on his feet.

for a moment, steady, he waits to be swung at--and then, beyond that, reaches with a firm hand to pull the door open and nudge bakugou inside. )

...The bath is probably drained. I'll start it up again. ( there's a slight glance, eyeing bakugou, like he's reassuring that he won't just collapse and hit his head on any of the benches or lockers. ) Can you get undressed?

( even if he can't: at this point, bakugou's ego might be pushed too far to the limits, and so without waiting for an answer, he moves away from him, padding bare feet through into the shower room to seek out the communal bath. he'll give him the chance to do it himself--and if he doesn't, then he'll have to submit to a pair of helpful hands when he returns back to him. )