#this also cures the deathly sickness i have that is Falling Onto The Floor When My Favorite Character Is Depicted As A Father

[oohbuggypie]

every time my baby niece is visiting, she walks into the room that im playing Punch Out!! Wii in and starts happily squealing / stomping whenever she sees me fighting Bald Bull, Mr. Sandman, or Bear Hugger . today i had an itch in my brain that nothing else would scratch so i give 2 u all:: Bald Bull holding a baby 🩷🩷

[sinfulwonders]

👀 Any more WIPs to reveal?

heck ya there are! (I’m terrible at finishing stuff, so I’ve got so many.)

So I’ve never posted a despair disease for Kokichi, even though I’ve written 4 different versions of Kokichi getting some sort of despair disease. Here’s one where the despair disease reverts the person into their pregame self! There’s a lot I like and a lot I didn’t like when I wrote this, but I hope y’all enjoy. It also just sort of cuts off, because it is a wip.

“Report to the gym for your new motive!”

The announcement repeated over and over in his head as Shuichi made his way down the hallway of the school.

But Kaede just- This is all happening so fast.

Shuichi had just watched his first friend in this obscene game die two days prior. It was brutal. He couldn’t look away as Kaede dangled from a rope by her neck, her body bouncing lazily across a piano. Every time her feet hit the oversized keys her eyes held a glint of hope. Like maybe she was getting some sort of mercy. Maybe she was being lowered down and released. But she died, slowly and painfully, each keystroke a shot to his heart.

I can’t let that happen to anyone else.

Shuichi had decided as he relived Kaede’s death over and over again, at night during his dreams and anytime he had a quiet moment during the day. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else suffering.

Her sacrifice needs to be worth something. So I’ll protect everyone. I have to.

Shuichi was extremely bothered that only two days had passed and Monokuma was already implementing a new motive.

But what could it be?

The detective was the last one to enter the gym, seeing the stares of all the others as he entered. He reached for his hat out of habit, but once again had to realize, just as he had to do the past two days, that he was no longer wearing it.

Because Kaede never liked it. I have to be strong. For her.

“RISE AND SHINE URSINE!” The Monokubs popped out of seemingly nowhere.

“What’s this all about?” yelled an angry Kaito.

“A new motive, idiot, didn’t you hear the announcement?” laughed the mischievous Kokichi.

“Shut the hell up Ouma, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” Kaito snarled.

Kokichi raised his hands up and shrugged, “Touchy, touchy. You’re all so gloomy!” He smirked, “The mood….It’s like someone died!” He cackled as Shuichi tensed up immediately.

“Ouma-kun!” Shuichi burst out, glaring at the boy.

“Aww is Saihara-chan mad at me?” Kokichi shot a feigned pout towards the detective.

Shuichi balled his fists and scowled at the supreme leader in an angry silence. Seeing that he was getting no response he smiled and turned to the kubs.

“So what’s the motive this time? Better not be boring!” He turned and grinned back at Shuichi.

“Motive? What motive?” Monotaro asked.

“Oh dear, did he forget again?” Monophanie had a concerned look on her bear face.

“IN-ORDER-TO-GET-ALONG” Monodam robotically stated, “YOU-MUST-OVERCOME-THIS-MOTIVE.”

In order to get along. That’s rich.

“It’s a disease this time,” Monosuke pointed out while pushing up his glasses.

Monophanie wailed, “Oh no that sounds dangerous!”

Monosuke glanced over at her, “That’s the point.”

“Basically you get the disease and it changes some part of your personality. Making you the opposite of how you are. If you kill we can cure it for you!” Monotaro explained.

Monophanie gasped, “Wow, Monotaro remembered so well! Do you have the disease???”

Monosuke hummed, “Hmm possibly…”

“I gotta rock hard rager!” Monophanie screamed.

“Watch out, it’s contagious!” Monotaro cried, pointing at the now wild pink bear pretending to strum a guitar.

“SO LONG BEAR WELL!”

With that the bears were gone.

“So there’s a disease going around?” Shuichi pondered.

“Such a pain…” Himiko sighed.

“It’s okay! I’ll fight it off!” Tenko cried, clutching onto a pulling away Himiko.

“Ooh Gonta help if he can!” Gonta smiled, taking a combat stance, “Gonta fight disease too!”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works…” Kirumi noted.

“Does anyone feel sick?” Kaito asked.

Kokichi smirked at the group, “You idiots. If there is a contagious disease going around, why the hell are we all together being buddy-buddy like this? I’m super lucky as a supreme leader that I’m immune to all diseases, but it’s pretty stupid for the rest of you to all be in one room breathing each other’s air!”

“Ouma, I’m so sick of your attitude!” Kaito barked.

“Oh yeah, you’d rather us continue to try to be a team?” Ouma laughed aloud, “Cuz it worked so well for Kaede?”

“SHUT UP!” Shuichi screamed at the supreme leader. His cheeks flushed red as he saw the fear flash for a moment in Kokichi’s eyes. He started again, quieter, “Please, don’t talk about her… Ouma-kun.”

Ouma looked down at the floor for a second and then up at the detective.

“Sai-har-a…” their eyes met and Shuichi saw the fear return into the supreme leader’s violet eyes, this time for a different reason.

Kokichi fainted, his body falling in heap on the floor.

Shuichi ran up to the fallen boy immediately, as the group went into a panic around him.

“Ouma-kun!”

 ----------------

Shuichi sat in the supreme leader’s room, watching the sleeping boy. The detective and Kaito had moved the boy to his very cluttered room after he had fainted, while Kirumi had gone to get medical supplies to treat him. The others had decided to investigate and try to find out any information on the disease affecting them. Shuichi supposed he’d probably be more helpful in that capacity, but after seeing Kokichi fall like that he felt compelled to stay with him.

He just seems so small.

So Shuichi sat alone with the sleeping boy, as Kirumi came and went, tending to Kokichi and bringing snacks to Shuichi. It was almost night time when the boy jolted awake.

“Oh good you’re up Oum-” Shuichi declared with a smile, until he saw the boy’s face, “Ouma-kun?”

It was deathly pale, staring blankly at Shuichi.

“Ouma-kun are you okay?”

Suddenly his eyes seemed to focus in and take in Shuichi’s form.

“Saihara-chan?” Kokichi smiled weakly.

Oh good he remembers me. He didn’t lose his memory I guess.

The sick boy continued, “Where are we?”

“Your room…you’re sic-” Shuichi started but was interrupted by Kirumi entering with medicine and some dinner for the boys.

“Oh Ouma-kun, good. You’re awake.” She said with a taut smile.

The boy looked fearful and reached out to grab Shuichi’s hand. He turned with surprise when it was not within his grasp.

Shuichi just gave him a confused look.

“Saihara-chan, what’s going on? Who is she?” Kokichi trembled.

“What?” Shuichi questioned, “You remember me and not Kirumi?”

Kokichi nodded, shaking. Shuichi stood and moved closer to the supreme leader.

“It’ll be okay…” he sat on the bed next to the trembling boy.

He tried to slow his breathing, remaining calm in front of the panicking boy, but was not expecting his next move.

Kokichi threw himself against Shuichi, pressing his head into his chest and arms around his waist.

“I’m scared Saihara-chan!”

Shuichi instinctually held onto him, arms wrapping him in a warm, protective embrace.

What the?

Shuichi held the small, shaking boy, eyes wide with shock, as Kirumi quietly set the tray down and exited the room. She gave him a small smile and nod on her way out.

“Ouma-kun…it’ll be okay…” Shuichi patted his back, trying to get the boy to calm down.

Kokichi looked up at him suddenly, eyes cast with sadness, “Why are y-you calling me O-ouma-kun?”

Shuichi’s eyes widened at that expression, “Because that’s what I always call you?” he stated in confusion.

Kokichi let go of him and backed away, fear now on his face.

His tone got quieter and more serious, “Who are you? Where’s the real Saihara-chan?”

“What?” Shuichi gave him an equally confounded and concerned look, “I am the real Shuichi Saihara…”

Kokichi furiously shook his head, “No. No I don’t believe you!” He cried out, “I don’t know who you are, but you’re not my Shuichi!”

Shuichi backed off the bed, genuinely shocked by Kokichi calling him first name, “Your Shuichi?”

Kokichi turned away from him in his bed, pulling the covers over himself. He whispered, “Please…get out.”

Shuichi backed out of the room, quaking on shaky legs as he was utterly dumfounded and a little scared of the conversation and Kokichi’s very different personality.

Why did he know me and not Kirumi? Why did he call me…his?

He tried to push the thoughts out of his mind as he took a long walk around campus.

 -------------------

The next morning, as Shuichi entered the dining hall, Kirumi pulled him aside.

“It’s not just me.”

“What?” Shuichi asked, still groggy from just waking up.

Kirumi frowned, “I went back last night. Kokichi doesn’t remember anyone. Except for you.”

Shuichi was stunned, “What? Why me?”

Kirumi sighed, “He doesn’t remember anything that has happened during the killing game. So, I have come to the conclusion that you must have known each other outside of it.”

Shuichi let out an audible gasp, “WHAT?” Several people at the table turned around in interest.

Kirumi sighed and whispered quieter, “You need to go talk to him. Find out what he knows. Maybe he knows why we’re here.”

Shuichi grimaced at the thought. It was so jarring and difficult to see Kokichi completely unlike himself.

I hate this.

He sighed in defeat as Kirumi made him a tray with two plates and gave him a small but stern push towards the dorms. Shuichi started that way.

He looked at the small room key that Kirumi had placed on the tray.

KNOCK KNOCK.

His light knock received no answer, so he quietly unlocked the door. Small snores escaped the mouth of a sleeping form. Shuichi quietly sat down, placing the tray on the bedside table.

He watched the boy, and was surprised to see how peaceful he looked like this. So innocent.

He’s beautiful.

Shuichi shook the thought out of his head, but was quickly pulled back to stare at the serene scene in front of him.

Shuichi watched for a while, his eyelids slowly getting droopy as well, when he noticed that small whimpers began to escape Kokichi’s lips. He began to toss and turn in his sleep, the nightmare seemingly invading his peaceful slumber.

“Ouma-kun,” Shuichi whispered, moving closer to the boy. He slowly shook the boy, until he awoke with a slight jolt, “You were having a nightmare.”

Kokichi’s eyes lit up and he pulled Shuichi into a deep kiss.

“Mmm!” Shuichi’s eyes widened in shock as the detective immediately pulled away, “W-what are you doing?”

Kokichi’s face fell solemn immediately, “You r-really don’t remember…”

“Remember what?” Shuichi stammered, still blushing and shaking from the impromptu kiss, “Please, tell me…”

Kokichi looked up at Shuichi and let out a large breath, “Shuichi… the last thing I remember about you...is b-being in love with you.”

What?

Kokichi saw the still confused expression and his heart sunk deeper.

Shuichi felt dizzy as he fell back in his chair, “Was I i-in love with y-you?”

“Yes,” Kokichi let a small wry smile settle on his face.

This was all way too much for Shuichi. His head hurt and his heart felt like it would pound right out of his chest. He tried to stand once more to try to leave, but it was too much.

He collapsed on the floor. Blackness overtaking him.

 ---------------

He awoke gasping for air, surrounded by eyes.

“AH!”

“It’s okay, it’s us, bro.” He heard Kaito’s familiar voice and relaxed. His vision cleared and he saw that he had been moved to his room and was now surrounded by several of his fellow inmates. Kokichi was hunched in the background, staring at Shuichi.

“I fainted…” Shuichi mumbled, as Kaito, Kirumi, and Maki nodded.

“How are you feeling?” Kaito asked, concern sweeping his face.

“I’m not sick.” Shuichi replied, causing the three besides Kokichi to sigh in relief.

“You hit your head pretty hard,” stated Kirumi, “It was a good thing that Ouma-kun came and got us so quickly.”

Shuichi face softened and he looked at the boy, still trying to make himself look as small as possible, “Thank you…” he smiled.

Kaito glanced between the two boys, noticing something had changed.

“What’s different about you Ouma?” Kaito had a suspicious tone with the sick supreme leader, “The monokubs mentioned personality changes. What’s going on?”

So I guess Kirumi didn’t tell anyone else.

“Momota-kun,” Shuichi whispered, unable to conjure the strength to speak louder, “It is fine. Thank you for your help, but can I please talk to Ouma-kun alone now?”

Kaito looked visibly annoyed, “But Shuichi? It may not be safe! He’s a liar!”

Kokichi withered at that comment. Shuichi gave Kaito a slightly sterner look this time, “Momota-kun.”

Kaito sighed, “Okay bro… I trust you.”

“Thank you.”

The room emptied except for the quivering Kokichi.

“Y-yes, Shu-Saihara-cha-kun…?” Kokichi quivered, struggling on what to call his apparent lover.

“You can call me whatever you want. I know this is a weird situation, but I want you to be comfortable. Whether you call me what you used to call me or if you call me Saihara-kun, I just want you to be comfortable.” Shuichi sighed as Kokichi’s eyes seem to calm a little.

This Kokichi was so different from the one he knew. Although I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing.

Shuichi examined the boy, staring at the differences. His eyes had lost the mischievous sparkle, instead they were round, like some sort of nervous animal. His usual smile was gone, instead he chose to bite his lip in thought. But the most important thing missing was his presence. Kokichi lacked the aura of confidence that surrounded him most days. Instead he seemed so childlike and innocent.

The two stared at each other, each examining the strange version of a person they no longer knew. Eventually Kokichi spoke.

“This is so strange…”

“Which part?” Shuichi smiled.

Kokichi blushed, “I’m t-this close to you…and I’m not in your arms.”

Shuichi flushed red, “Oh um I’m sor-”

“Oh no!” Kokichi interrupted, “Don’t be sorry. P-please. I just…this is fine.”

Shuichi desperately wished he was wearing his hat to cover his face.

“Ouma-kun…what did I used to call you?”

Kokichi smiled, as if reminiscing a fond memory, “Ko-chan.”

“Are you always this straightforward and honest?”

Kokichi blinked and then his smile returned, “With you.”

The two blushed at each other.

 --------------

Kokichi stayed by his side, sitting in the desk chair near his bed silently. He watched Shuichi at all times, only speaking if spoken to. Kirumi presented lunch and then dinner at the door, along with various medicines for Shuichi’s head and Kokichi’s waning fever. Kokichi always thanked her politely and said, “I’ll take it from here.”

Shuichi was in and out of sleep, emotionally and physically exhausted.

He woke up once in the later evening and didn’t see the purple-haired boy. He couldn’t help but start to panic.

“Ouma-kun?” He said aloud, fear visible in his voice.

A small boy rushed out of the bathroom with a washcloth.

“Yes…Saihara-chan?” Kokichi’s eyes were wide and caring as he placed the cold compress on where he hit his head.

Shuichi sighed.

It’s weird that I feel so attached to him so quickly. It really is like we’ve been together for a long time.

“Will you sit with me?” Shuichi whispered, blushing.

Kokichi smiled and Shuichi’s heart began to race, “Of course.”

The small boy climbed on the bed, sitting upright next to the laying Shuichi. He took the detective’s hand in his own. His hand was cold from holding the washcloth, but it was comforting all the same. Shuichi’s eyes drifted close, hand gripping Kokichi’s tightly.

He awoke with a small jump as purple flooded his vision. He realized quickly that Kokichi seemed to have fallen over, his hair resting directly in front of his face now. He felt Kokichi’s chest go up and down and realized he was holding the boy, spooning him.

When did I…

He watched the beautiful boy breathe in and out for a while, admiring the serenity of the scene, pulling him just a little closer. He smelled of lavender. It wasn’t until the morning announcement was played that the small boy began to stir. He wiggled slightly in Shuichi’s grasp, and the detective loosened his grip on the boy. Kokichi turned so that he was face to face with the detective.

“G’morning,” the violet eyed boy said with a shy smile.

Shuichi returned the smile, “Good morning, Ouma-kun. How are you feeling?”

“A-ah I should be asking you the s-same thing Saihara-chan! You fainted!” Kokichi stammered.

“Yeah, but you have some sort of sickness. Do you feel any negative symptoms?”

Kokichi frowned in thought, “N-not really…”

“Hmm. That’s weird. Maybe it’s only a personality switch, then?” Shuichi mumbled.

Kokichi shrugged and then nuzzled closer to the boy. Shuichi recoiled backwards at the more intimate contact.

“I-um, we should go to breakfast…” Shuichi sat up awkwardly, not wanting to look the disappointed Kokichi in the eye.

 --------------

As they walked into the dining hall, Kokichi clung to the detective as if his life depended on it. The two collected their food and Kokichi quickly sat down next to Shuichi, eyeing the strangers staring at them with suspicion.

“Oh, um… I guess I should introduce you to everyone, since you don’t remember meeting them…” Shuichi pondered sheepishly.

“He doesn’t remember us?” Kaito exclaimed, jumping out of his seat.

“He doesn’t remember friends?” Gonta frowned, and Himiko gave him a sympathetic pat on the back.

“Ah- no. He doesn’t remember anything from…here. He’s really nervous, so let’s go through this slowly so we don’t overwhelm him.”

“Nervous?” Miu screeched, her personality the last thing Shuichi thought Ouma could deal with right now, “When’s the gremlin ever fuckin’ nervous?”

“That’s a good point, Iruma. It’s strange that he hasn’t spoken up… What’s going on Saihara?” Maki inquired, glaring at the supreme leader.

Kokichi’s eyes widened in fear of the girl, as he hid his face in Shuichi’s shirt.

“O-ouma-kun…” the detective stuttered out in surprise. He then scanned the room of confused onlookers, “The disease. He is very shy and doesn’t remember much. So…just be nice, okay?” He gave the boy a pat on the back and Kokichi peaked out from the detective. The faces looked much less terrifying to the boy.

 ----------------

Shuichi sighed in relief that the introductions were finally over. The detective had slowly introduced Kokichi to each ultimate, and the encounters went smoothly for the most part. Except for Miu’s of course:

“So…you’ve got to be hittin’ that! Right Pooichi?” Miu raised her eyebrows at the detective, suggestively licking her lips.

“Wha- no! Of course not!” Shuichi exclaimed.

Kokichi’s eyes got wide, “H-he would n-never hit me, Iruma-san! Saihara-chan’s not like that!”

Miu’s interaction went as well as to be expected, Shuichi supposed. It had been surprising, but the way Ouma was so quick to defend him, had made the detective’s chest flutter with pride. He was also enjoying the supreme leader clinging to him more than he thought he ever could. The detective looked down at the boy gripping onto his shirt, his purple hair framing his pale features in a way that made him look almost angelic.

“Saihara-chan?” Kokichi looked up at the boy in confusion.

“Oh-uh,” The flustered Shuichi turned away from the supreme leader, “S-should we, find something to do for the day, Ouma-kun?”

The purple-haired boy’s face lit up, “Yes! I’d love that! What should we do, Saihara-chan?” He was practically jumping up and down with glee.

[stolethekey]

i close my eyes, let it surround me

COMIN’ IN HOT THE NIGHT BEFORE THE DEADLINE HERE WE GO

this is for @397bartonstreet, who asked for something about amy knitting jake a scarf pre-relationship and it being his favorite thing in the world bc he's already lowkey smitten with her. what a concept honestly it took me so long to just wrap my head around how incredible that idea was.

and shoutout to the team at @b99fandomevents for hosting yet another successful event! these things are not easy to do well and y’all do it consistently. thanks for providing a platform for us writers to share our work and make some new friends. 

anyway. you can read this on ao3 here. enjoy!

-

Amy loves the fall.

It’s the perfect season, really – the crisp air is a welcome reprieve from the swampy New York summer, but it’s not the unbearable cold of December, either. It’s a season of scarves and sweaters but not snow boots, of morning walks with a warm coffee in hand but no need for mittens.

It’s also flu season.

And while Amy hasn’t gotten the flu in ten years (flu shots and home remedies, baby!), she takes a sort of strange satisfaction in watching her coworkers succumb to the illness. It’s not that she enjoys their pain – she doesn’t, no matter what Rosa mutters under her breath every year – but this perfectly benign illness is a way for her to finally take care of her colleagues without them complaining.

She likes to take care of people. And flu season is her time to shine.

The only annoying thing about flu season is that Jake somehow also never gets sick. This is a phenomenon, she thinks, that is inexplicable by the known laws of nature, much like platypus eggs or the horizon problem. It is patently unfair that he remains healthy (to use the term loosely) on a diet of sour candy and orange soda, whereas she has had to concoct a careful schedule of Vitamin C and ginger broth to stave off the flu.

In any case, Jake never gets sick. And no matter how unjust Amy believes that to be, every November sees the two of them become the only constants in the bullpen.

So, when she walks into the precinct the second week of November to see his desk empty, the uncomfortable surprise that jolts through her body is completely reasonable. It is completely reasonable for her to badger Captain Holt for her partner’s whereabouts, and upon learning that he is sick, it is completely reasonable for her to hole herself away in the evidence lockup and call said partner.

Jake picks up on the third ring, his voice sounding muted through the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Amy says, feet shuffling restlessly against the floor. “Holt said you called in sick.”

He gives a weak murmur of assent. “I think I have the flu, or something? I’m so congested and my whole body is cold and I think I have a fever? I can’t really tell.”

Amy feels her eyes narrow. “You’re never sick.”

“I know,” Jake says sourly. “Guess my good luck ran out.”

A faint, triumphant smile starts to make its way across Amy’s face. “So, what you’re saying is – I beat you.”

Jake groans. “Don’t let it go to your head. I personally think the fact that I lasted as long as I did is impressive, considering you spent hours of your time trying to prevent the flu and I just coasted and did nothing.”

Amy’s grin grows wider as he keeps going. “If anything, I think I am the true winner, because I invested less time and still got just as far. It’s about the return on investment. I got an equal return on zero investment.”

“You did not get equal return. I’m not sick. Which means I got more return.”

Jake snorts. “Details.”

“Make fun of my methods all you want,” Amy says loftily. “I get results, boy. Which is why you are currently sitting at home, miserable and cold, while I am working a double homicide.”

A high-pitched whine comes through the receiver, and Amy laughs. “Bye, Jake. I have a murderer to catch.”

She doesn’t talk to him again until later that day, when her phone lights up with a text.

From: Jake Peralta amy help i think it’s getting worse 2:34 pm

She feels a twinge of pity as she types her response.

To: Jake Peralta yes, it does that sometimes 2:35 pm

From: Jake Peralta can u give me some of ur weird home remedies pls i promise i’ll stop making fun of them 2:37 pm

To: Jake Peralta you just called them “weird” 2:38 pm

From: Jake Peralta :( 2:38 pm

From: Jake Peralta ok starting now 2:39 pm

From: Jake Peralta please I think I’m dying 2:45 pm

Amy sighs as she glances at his empty desk, mentally calculating the time it’ll take for her to drive home after her shift and gather her things.

To: Jake Peralta Fine. If you can stay alive for three more hours, I’ll be there at 5:40. 2:47 pm

From: Jake Peralta always so specific (ur the best thank u) 2:48 pm She shows up at his door at 5:40 sharp, two plastic bags in her arms. Her instinctual sarcastic comment dies on the tip of her tongue as the door opens to reveal a disheveled, very-clearly-just-asleep Jake.

“Oh,” she says, taking in his knotted hair and deathly pale skin. “I mean, hi.”

“Yeah, it’s bad,” he grumbles, his voice muted. “Come in.”

He shuffles aside, socked feet sliding against the floorboards, and Amy steps into his apartment.

She notes with some surprise that the floor is mostly bare, uncovered by dirty clothes, and a quick glance reveals no empty take-out containers on the coffee table. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but your place is…surprisingly clean.”

Jake coughs weakly behind her. “I tried to shove some stuff into the cupboards before you got here,” he says, shutting the door. “I know you hate mess.”

Something very unwelcome swells in Amy’s chest as she sets her bags on the counter. “Oh my God, Jake, you really didn’t have to, you’re clearly so sick –“

“Mmm, ’sfine,” he mumbles, turning toward the bedroom. “I’m gonna sleep now. Make yourself at home.”

“Oh,” Amy says again. “I mean, yeah, of course, you need it – I’ll set up here and wait for you.”

“You’re the best.”

She laughs, he gives her a weak, soft smile, and with that, he disappears into his room, leaving her to rifle through her bags in an attempt to bury the flurry of butterflies in her stomach.

-

When Jake wakes, it takes him a minute to remember that he’s not alone.

It’s a good thing that he remembers when he does, because walking mostly naked into the hallway while his colleague whom he respects very much and may or may not have a tiny crush on is rustling around in his kitchen is absolutely not something he wants to do, no matter how sick he is.

He doesn’t completely remember taking his clothes off, but he guesses somewhere in between him sliding into bed and now, his fever made him go from freezing cold to unbearably hot and that’s why his sweatpants are currently lying abandoned on the floor. He pauses to pull them back on, and as he grabs his T-shirt off the foot of his bed he notes with some relief that he feels somewhat more like himself.

Amy is perched on his couch when he enters the living room, and the gentle kindness in her eyes as she looks up makes his heart clench.

He clears his throat, determinedly trying to focus on something else. “Are you knitting?”

Her eyebrows scrunch together as she looks him up and down, the needles stilling in her hands. “Are you really in a position to be making fun of me right now?”

“I’m not making fun of you,” he says hastily, holding his hands up. “Just – observing. Is that a scarf?”

“It’s going to be, yeah. Good eye.”

He smiles, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s really good. Honestly. I love that shade of blue.”

She returns his smile, and for a moment he thinks that maybe he could get used to this, that maybe he likes the sight of her snuggled comfortably into the side of his couch.

Amy coughs. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” he answers, making his way into the kitchen to hide the blush that’s spread onto his cheeks. “Did you bring those magic cures you promised?”

“Yeah!” She jumps almost excitedly off the couch, laying her half-finished scarf on his coffee table. “Here, let me set it up.”

She hurries past him and starts untying the top of a plastic bag he hadn’t noticed initially. “I actually ordered you some soup and bread – I brought you some meds, too, but you should have something in your stomach before you take them.”

A large plastic tub emerges from the bag, and she grins. “Lucky you – it’s still hot.”

He takes it with a murmur of thanks, and she shoves him toward the table. “Go eat that. I’m gonna prep.”

The soup is heavenly, although Jake isn’t sure it’s possible to mess up chicken noodle soup, and as he tears into the bread he sneaks a glance at Amy.

A pot of liquid is boiling on the stove as she chops something on his cutting board, and as he watches her maneuver easily around his kitchen he feels a curious sense of longing start to rise in his chest.

“Okay,” she says, and his head snaps up. “Push that soup to the side. The goal here is to minimize steam loss, so I’m gonna brief you now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She rolls her eyes, but the authoritative tone remains in her voice when she continues. “When I slide this bowl in front of you, you’re going to lower your face so that it’s immediately above the liquid. And then you’re just gonna breathe it in.”

“Like the way pop stars steam their vocal cords.”

“Sure. Yes. Ready?”

He nods, she pours the liquid from the pot into the bowl, and before he can react, his face is directly above a translucent, brownish-orange broth and a towel is being draped over his head.

“Are you kidnapping me?”

“It’s to keep the steam in. Shut up and close your eyes.”

He does, breathing deeply, and immediately starts coughing. “Wha – what is in this?”

“Don’t move!” Amy says indignantly, her voice muffled through the towel. “It’s apple cider vinegar, ginger, garlic, echinacea, and some peppermint. It should help with the congestion and clear some stuff up.”

“It’s spicy!”

Amy laughs. “You’ll get used to it. Keep breathing.”

He falls silent obediently, and as they lapse into a comfortable quiet he starts to feel it again.

The flu is definitely messing with his brain, but a part of him never wants to be sick without her again. Maybe she could take care of him every time he’s sick or hurt or sad. Maybe he could take care of her, too. Maybe he wants the comfort she brings when she’s here. Maybe her coat could find a permanent place draped over his armchair. Maybe it could stay – and maybe she could stay –

“Okay,” she says suddenly, making him jump almost guiltily. “It’s been like ten minutes – how’s the temperature?”

“Um, good,” he says, forcing his voice to remain casual. “It’s pretty lukewarm, actually. Not much steam left.”

Her voice says, “I think you’re done, then,” and then the towel is yanked off his head and he’s blinking in the bright lights of his living room.

She whisks away the bowl before he even has a chance to react, sliding it onto his countertop with a little flourish. “You can reuse that up to three times – it’ll probably still be good tomorrow. Just re-boil it. I’ll text you the full recipe for when you need to make more – you should probably do this twice a day until you feel better.”

“Um, okay. Thanks.”

She gives him a small smile, then passes him a handful of pills and a glass of water. “Take ‘em.”

He swallows them obediently as she holds up a pill organizer. “I’ve put a week’s supply in here, so you don’t have to figure out how much to take. You should be almost back to normal by the time it runs out, but if not, I’ll give you more.”

He gives her a petulant frown. “I’m not an old man.”

She snorts. “Don’t get sick and beg me like a baby, then.”

He laughs, and she smiles, wringing her hands almost nervously. “I think that’s mostly it – so, um, I’ll head out, let you get some rest – I’ll leave my peppermint and echinacea for you to use, I have plenty at home – ”

“Wait,” he says, much too quickly. “Do you – would you want to stay? I mean, if you’re busy, I totally get it, I just – I’m actually kind of sick of lying in bed all day, and, um, I’d love some company – I read an article about this documentary on cubism we could watch – “

“You’d watch a documentary about cubism with me?”

He gives her an embarrassed smile. “You brought me soup. It’s the least I can do.”

She blushes slightly and rolls her eyes. “Technically, Paul from Postmates brought you soup.”

“Then give me his number and get out of my house.”

Amy laughs, lively and bright, and Jake’s heart soars.

“Fine,” she says, pouring herself a glass of water. “But I’m finishing my scarf as we watch it.”

“Deal.”

And maybe it’s just a coincidence, maybe it’s fate, but when the precinct’s annual Secret Santa rolls around and Jake tears open the wrapping paper to find a familiar, hand-knit blue scarf, he can’t help but feel like the world is trying to tell him something.  

Or, maybe, one person is trying to tell him something.

And as he walks into the bullpen the next morning with his new scarf warm and secure around his neck, he finds it really, really hard to tell the difference.