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Midoriya is sick, and Shouta, for the life of him, has absolutely no idea what he’s supposed to do.
He shouldn’t even be caretaker, really. Kids have never been his area of expertise, let alone teenagers (even though he’s a teacher to twenty of them). He can handle putting them through drills and teaching them the ropes, but when it came to delicate, domestic situations like this, outside of a classroom, he has no idea what exactly it is he’s supposed to do.
And of course it had to happen on the one day that Recovery Girl was out accompanying a group of heroes during a mission. Figured. It really, really figured. Because why wouldn’t that happen.
Iida had come to get him, acting like it was the end of the world when really it was just Midoriya sick in bed. Shouta had originally thought Iida was simply worried and thereby overreacting, but those thoughts were dashed the moment he actually saw Midoriya.
After that, he’d been considerably worried himself (although he was more experienced and knew how to handle it better than Iida and the others of Class 1-A).
Midoriya is completely unresponsive for the most part, as he’s been since Shouta arrived here. He’s covered with several blankets, but they don’t seem to do much to combat the violent chills that wrack his shoulders, just as the cold patches plastered to his sweaty forehead don’t seem to do much against his fever. He looks terrible, and the worst part of it probably lies in the fact that Recovery Girl can’t actually stop it, even if she were here. The most she could do is give him something to bring down his fever.
Shouta can’t risk whatever Midoriya has spreading to the rest of his classmates, so he ordered Iida to keep everyone away while he sat with Midoriya, alone. There’s a big probability that all of Class 1-A will come down with it anyway, but it’s worth a shot.
So here Shouta sits, on Midoriya’s desk chair, which he’s dragged over to the bedside. He keeps having to refresh the cold plasters, but they don’t seem to be doing much good. He’ll probably end up resorting to good old-fashioned wet rags pretty soon, if this keeps up.
He’s just about to head into the bathroom for a washcloth when Midoriya’s eyes snap open, and he almost smacks his and Shouta’s heads together when he sits up. His eyes are wide, but fever bright and dazed, and they hold a certain sense of urgency mingled with confusion that strikes Shouta in places he didn’t know he had.
“Hey, calm down, kid,” Shouta says, reaching out and placing a steadying hand on Midoriya’s shoulder. He can feel heat and sweat through his t-shirt; he’ll probably need to get Midoriya to change into a fresh one soon. “You’re gonna make yourself sicker if you keep straining yourself. Take a deep breath.”
Midoriya does, but it sends him into a coughing fit that Shouta only hopes isn’t actually as painful as it sounds. Midoriya cups his hands around his mouth to try and stifle it, but it does little to help, and Shouta moves without thinking and rubs circles between his shoulderblades until it ends.
It doesn’t end quickly, and it leaves Midoriya gasping for breath for quite a while afterwards. Shouta is half afraid he’ll launch himself into another fit, but thankfully, he seems alright.
“I-I-I thought there was… s-some kind of fight,” Midoriya stammers, blinking out into space. His voice is nearly gone, and Shouta is afraid he’ll send himself coughing again if he keeps it up. “W-We… we were attacked…”
“It’s the fever, Midoriya, everyone’s fine,” Shouta answers cooly, and he presses the back of his hand to Midoriya’s temple. He hisses through his teeth, but doesn’t withdraw. “Yeah. Definitely the fever. But you’re alright, kid, don’t worry. No one’s getting attacked.”
Midoriya blinks at him again, very slowly, and Shouta doesn’t actually know how much information he actually took in out of that but okay. At least he isn’t panicking anymore. Or coughing up a lung. Those are both good things.
“Here.” Shouta reaches for the waterbottle Iida had left on the nightstand and presses it into Midoriya’s shaking hands. He has to curl the kid’s fingers around the bottle to make sure he knows it’s there. “Try sipping on that, alright? I’ll be right back.”
Midoriya blinks at him and wow for someone who can literally blast giant craters in the ground he sure can look like some kind of dejected puppy, but he doesn’t argue and Shouta leaves for the bathroom.
He comes back with a cold, wet rag (he should probably have Iida bring him a bowl so he doesn’t have to keep making the trip back and forth between Midoriya’s room and the bathroom). Midoriya is still sitting up on the bed where he left him, but the waterbottle is capped and on the side table.
Shouta nudges the desk chair out of the way with a foot and sits on the bed beside Midoriya instead. “Lean forward for a second,” he says, and Midoriya listens. Shouta settles the wash cloth on the back of Midoriya’s neck, apologizing under his breath when the kid flinches against the chill.
“Let me know when it stops being cold,” Shouta says, leaning back against the headboard. Midoriya blinks at him, nods, then scoots back and does the same beside him. Shouta reaches out, feels Midoriya’s forehead again beside the cold patch. “Damn it, kid, you’re really burning up, huh…”
Midoriya swallows thickly. His eyes are still glassy and glazed over, but this time, they’re shimmering.
“Aizawa-sensei, I-I… I’m sorry. F-For…” He looks lost for a moment, staring down at his hands. “Y-Y’know.”
Shouta heaves a long sigh. Usually he’d be more irritated with him for apologizing for things completely beyond his control, but he just doesn’t have the heart right now. Not when Midoriya already looks so dejected and hurt.
“It’s not your fault,” Shouta says instead, shaking his head. “Just something we all have to deal with from time to time. It’s no problem. Except, it would’ve been nice if you’d said something before it escalated like this.”
Midoriya sniffs and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “I-I thought it was nothing.”
That’s fair, Shouta thinks, but still. “Just, don’t think too much about it,” he says, and when he thinks about it, he drags one of the many blankets back over Midoriya’s trembling shoulders. “You can overthink it all you want once your fever breaks. Until then, get some sleep.”
Midoriya blinks wide, fever-bright eyes at him, but exhaustion has definitely settled in, because he nods without a fight and leans, not against the headboard, but against Shouta’s shoulder.
He doesn’t mind it at all, even if the kid is sweaty and sick. Instead, he pulls out his phone, turns the brightness down all the way, and plays a mindless game while Midoriya sleeps. He’s sure the kid will wake up sooner than later with a coughing fit or some other ailment, and he’ll be here whenever that time comes.
He’s definitely out of his element when it comes to domestic situations like this. Especially when it comes to someone like Midoriya, so strong yet so gentle, so powerful yet so vulnerable. Shouta thinks, faintly, that he’ll never be “good” at this. This’ll never be his area of expertise.
But honestly, it’s whatever. His students take priority over his own comfort zones anyway.