⌞my love grows⌝

you weren’t dying. you were pretty sure you weren’t dying. at worst, it was just a mild fever, the kind that makes your head heavy and your limbs lazy, the kind where you just want to curl up under a blanket and watch the ceiling. but if you asked tanaka, your sniffles were an extinction-level event. the moment you texted him that you “felt kinda sick,” it was like pressing a big red emergency button labeled “send tanaka into full-blown protective mode.”

he showed up at your apartment within fifteen minutes. fifteen. not even amazon prime could beat that delivery time. he didn’t even knock like a normal person—he rattled your doorknob, called your name through the wood, and when you shuffled to open it, he stood there looking like a deranged knight with two grocery bags in each hand.

“move,” he commanded softly, like the word itself would break you if he said it any louder. “i got you. i got everything. meds. soup. eight kinds of tea. vitamin c tablets. throat spray. some weird herbal thing my sister swears by. a thermometer. a backup thermometer. also a plushie because i thought you’d like it.”

you blinked up at him, your hair a mess, your nose a little red. “ryū, i’m not—”

“shh.” he stepped inside and immediately kicked off his shoes, his entire body a bundle of tense energy and devotion. “you don’t have to be brave for me.”

it should’ve been embarrassing how soft your heart went at that. but there he was, putting the groceries on your counter like he was setting up an altar, muttering little curses under his breath at “whatever bacteria thought they could mess with his girl.” his girl. he didn’t even realize he said it.

he guided you back to the couch, his palm warm and steady on the small of your back. it was like being ushered around by a very intense, very affectionate golden retriever—except this golden retriever had shaved sides, a loud voice, and a tendency to look at you like you were the only thing that ever mattered.

“blanket,” he said, and when you reached for the thin throw draped over the couch, he practically growled. “no, no, no. you’re sick. you need my hoodie.”

before you could argue, he’d stripped off his own jacket—a thick karasuno sweatshirt—and draped it over you. it smelled like him: a little like clean sweat, a little like laundry detergent, a lot like comfort. he tucked it around your shoulders like a cape. “see? now you’re officially invincible.”

you laughed, weakly. “invincible?”

he crouched so he was eye-level with you, eyebrows drawn together in genuine concern. “don’t laugh, babe. i’m serious. you’re fragile. like… like a limited-edition figurine. you’re the last cherry blossom in winter. the final french fry at the bottom of the bag. you can’t just be out here getting sick.”

your face burned hotter than your fever. you tried to hide it behind the hoodie sleeves. “i’m really not that fragile, ryū.”

“you are to me,” he said, so softly you almost didn’t catch it.

and then he was bustling again, because sitting still made him restless. he set a kettle to boil, rummaged through your cupboards like he owned the place, muttering about “hydration” and “warmth” like some kind of dad at a little league game.

he brought you soup, but it wasn’t just soup. it was an event. he set the bowl down in front of you with a dramatic flourish. “i, tanaka ryūnosuke, have personally taste-tested this instant ramen for poison. it’s safe for my princess!”

“wow, thanks, gallant knight,” you teased, but your voice cracked.

his eyes snapped to yours. “too hot? too salty? too anything? i’ll fix it. i’ll make you something else. just say the word.”

“it’s perfect,” you murmured. “just perfect.”

the way he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours made you feel like you’d given him a medal.

then came the drinks. he lined up mugs of tea like a chemist, carefully steeping each one for the exact recommended time. he even blew on the surface before handing it to you, like you were some fairytale princess who couldn’t burn her tongue. and every time you coughed, his hand shot out to rub your back, his brows furrowed like he wanted to punch the germs straight out of you.

at one point, he disappeared into the kitchen for a suspiciously long time. when he came back, he was holding a damp washcloth. “for your forehead,” he said. “i saw it in a movie once.”

he pressed it to your skin with such gentle fingers, you thought your heart might melt right there.

“ryū,” you whispered. “i feel bad you’re doing all this.”

he shook his head violently, his shaved scalp catching the lamplight. “nah. nah. you don’t get it. i like taking care of you. i’d do it every day. i’d do it forever!” his voice dropped lower, rougher. “i don’t want anyone else touching you when you’re like this. you’re mine to look after.”

your pulse skipped. you should’ve been scared maybe, but you weren’t. it felt… weirdly safe. like even if the world crumbled, tanaka would stand there between you and the rubble, teeth bared.

he stayed with you the entire afternoon, switching between fussing over you and sitting next to you quietly, holding your hand. at one point, you started to drift off. half-asleep, you felt him adjust the blanket, his thumb stroking your knuckles.

“you’re gonna get sick too if you stay,” you murmured.

“then i’ll get sick,” he replied instantly. “and you’ll take care of me! that’s fair, right?”

you smiled faintly. “deal.”

he stayed until the evening. by then, your fever had dipped and the world felt a little less heavy. you leaned against him, your head on his shoulder. he smelled like warmth and sunlight and a little bit of sweat from running around your apartment.

“thanks, ryū,” you said softly.

he didn’t say anything back for a moment. then you felt him kiss the top of your hair—quick, almost like he couldn’t help himself. “anytime. every time.”

you tilted your head up, and he froze. his eyes flicked down to your lips, then back to your eyes. he looked like a puppy waiting for permission to jump onto the couch.

“you can,” you said, barely above a whisper.

his breath caught. then he leaned down and kissed you. not the wild, showy kind you’d expect from him, but something careful. reverent. like you were glass and he was afraid of breaking you. his lips were warm, a little chapped, tasting faintly of the honey tea he’d been drinking.

when he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to yours. “don’t scare me like that again,” he muttered. “when you texted me, i thought—i don’t even know. just… don’t.”

“i just had a fever,” you said, smiling.

“yeah, well, next time text me ‘ryū i’m fine but sick’ or something. because i’m telling you, my heart left my body. it left. it’s probably still running here from practice.”

you laughed, weak but genuine. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you love it!”

“i do,” you admitted.

he grinned then, the full tanaka grin, big and bright and a little wild. “good. because you’re stuck with me now. your personal nurse-slash-knight-slash-grocery-hauler. i’ll fight off any germ that tries to touch you!”

and somehow, you didn’t doubt he meant it.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a: kicking my feet while writing this.

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners. (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)