MHA Sickfic

Day 8 AHHAUHIEDHIWHoJRE

Ignore the title. Im going crazy. Also watch the video above. Thank me later.  (Its worth it). If it doesn't work here's the link : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08raJNtu_K4

Ok ok ill start. SORRYYYYY

Scrunching his face against the headache pounding behind his eyes, Izuku scrubs at his cheeks before crawling out of bed. His whole body aches in protest but he takes himself through a few gentle stretches and soon they've faded to a more manageable level. The shower helps ease them further but makes him feel a little dizzy and more than once he has to lean against the cold wall and just breathe. He pops two paracetamol to chase away the throbbing in his head and soon he's tiptoeing around the kitchen, making the by now routine breakfast.

"I really hope people aren't getting tired of okayu," he mutters to himself.

"Fuck them, they don't have a choice!"

The gruff pronouncement makes him jump, clutching at his heart as he spins to see Bakugo eyeing him with a smug smirk. The red-rimmed eyes and pale complexion detract from the self-satisfaction a little but Izuku tries to push his worry down.

"Morning Kacchan."

"Yeah..." he sighs, swiping a hand down his face. "Ready for another day in the fucking plague apocalypse?"

The rice cookers beep and Izuku flinches, missing the flash of concern in crimson eyes as he turns to take care of them.

"I guess we have to be," he chuckles ruefully, glancing over his shoulder with a wan smile.

Line skip!! Their name is Bob. They are non-binary!

Both boys are on their feet pretty much all day again. A few of their classmates report actually feeling a little better, although Bakugo is quick to warn them to "stay in their fucking beds until he says so."

Aw, you do care," Sero had teased within Izuku's earshot. The freckled teen had let out an involuntary snort of laughter and Bakugo had only just restrained himself from murdering the both of them.

Others in the class are less fortunate however, and Izuku and Bakugo are kept busy with spiking fevers and queasy stomachs until late afternoon.

LINE SKIPPPP: This is Jiff. He is a talking jar of peanut butter. 

Izuku is just heading towards his room to grab his charger when he hears the sound of falling crockery down the hall and follows his ears.

"Kacchan?!" he yelps, quickly closing the distance to where the blonde is slumped against the wall, legs trembling. He hesitates for just a second, but a particularly violent tremor has him grabbing him around the waist and pulling him in to rest against his side.

"Kacchan, what's wrong?"

"'m fine, Deku," the blonde rasps, eyes glazed. But Izuku can feel the minute trembles of the other boy against him and swallows painfully, throat dry.

"Ok, Kacchan." He settles for humouring the blonde for now, keeping his voice as measured as he can. "Let's go then."

An unintelligible murmur is all he gets in response so he shifts Bakugo's weight and half drags him on dead legs to his room down the hall. The door is nudged open with his hip and Izuku carefully eases Bakugo into his bed. He fumbles for his thermometer, dropping it through anxiety-palsied fingers and a twisted sob leaves his lip as his composure threatens to crack. But he steadies himself and grabs the device. His temperature is normal. Izuku steadies himself against his nightstand as a weight lifts from him.

"He's exhausted," he sighs, thinking back on his complaints about Kirishima's coughing and how he's spent the last few nights sleeping on the common room couch. So, he tucks him in, fingers gently carding through soft blonde locks until finally, mercifully, the frown melts away and Bakugo's breaths deepen. Izuku lets his eyes linger on the sleeping teen's softened features for just a moment, a warm sensation curling in his chest, albeit one tinged with worry. He leaves a glass of water and a sachet of electrolyte solution next to the lamp, scribbling a note before he shuts the door as quietly as he can and heads for the common room.

He shakes his head to bring himself back to the present, fussing over what to make for dinner before settling on Tamago Kake Gohan, favouring simplicity if he's going to manage it all himself. Once everyone is fed, he cracks an egg over his own bowl of rice, sliding bonelessly onto a chair to eat it, scrubbing at his burning eyes. About halfway through, his appetite all but deserts him, but he shrugs it off, reasoning that he can just reheat it later.

He's just finishing the washing up when Recovery Girl drops by, waving to him before she goes to do her usual rounds, including Bakugo at Izuku's request.

"Todoroki is doing well," she confides, patting his arm knowingly. "His fever spikes are becoming much less frequent. I would also say that Kaminari, Jirou, Sero, Satou, Hagakure, Ojiro, and Tokyami will be up and about in the next day or two. They're making very good progress thanks to you and Bakugo."

"H-how is Kacch-Bakugo?"

"He's just tired, he'll be fine tomorrow."

The sheer relief threatens to buckle Izuku's knees but he keeps it together.

"But how are you doing Midoriya?" Recovery Girl probes, eyeing him uncertainly.

"I'm fine," he promises with a soft smile. She raises a brow. "I mean, I'm tired. But I haven't had any fevers or coughing or anything."

With one last long appraising look she steps back with a nod and bids him a good night.

He checks his phone; 22:00. Ensuring the device is on loud, he wraps himself in Bakugo's discarded blanket and drifts off to the scent of burnt sugar and something indescribable that reminds him of childhood.

Line skip! Brought to you by Jiro jabbing Mineta in the eye with her ear jack :) 

This is what I'm referencing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=blPoIADnrO8

Bakugo wakes slowly, eyelids fluttering as he takes a deep breath, marshalling languid thoughts to try and collect himself from his dopey haze. The first conscious though is that the fabric against his cheek isn't the rougher weave of the couches, nor the wooly texture of his blankets. The room feels smaller; warmer too. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks he should be on alert at his sudden change in surroundings. But exhaustion weighs heavy on his bones and he's reluctant to rouse himself from the comfort he feels. Only then does he grow aware of the mild headache behind his left eye and his dry throat. Groaning sleepily, he pushes himself up, fumbling until he knocks against the desk lamp and flicks it on, immediately going for the water and dumping in the contents of the electrolyte pouch. He's vaguely conscious of the alarm clock reading 03:00. Only after he drains the glass does he spare a glance around the room, finally landing back on the note on the nightstand:

"Hope you slept well. This might help when you wake up."

The smile is small but genuine as he allows the pull of sleep to coerce him back under the sheets.