How do you think the Wammy boys would react to their s/o taking care of them while they're sick?
• L wouldn't admit he is sick until it is undeniable. So, if he's visibly ill, it means he's already quite unwell.
• He’d initially find it unnecessary and mildly inconvenient.
• “You don’t have to do that, I’m fine”
• But he wouldn’t reject it.
• L is used to being self-contained, but he’s not incapable of recognizing care when it’s offered.
• Once he realizes they're doing it out of genuine care, he’d grow quiet and observant.
• He’d likely watch them in silence for a long while, studying how they handles things.
• L doesn’t know what to do with gentle attention, but he registers it.
• If they insist he eat something, he’ll comply but question it, “Are you certain this will help my recovery rate?”
• If they wipe his forehead or tuck him in, he’ll just stare at them with faint confusion and something softer beneath it.
• L doesn’t know how to ask for care, but he feels it deeply when it’s offered without strings. He find it hard reconcile with the idea that someone would stay when he’s inefficient, unkempt, or vulnerable, but he quietly appreciates it.
• Mello gets irritable when he’s sick.
• He’ll hide it as long as possible — snapping, denying it, trying to act fine — until exhaustion wins.
• At first, he’ll resist care because he hates looking weak.
• He’ll cross his arms or mutter complaints but won’t actually stop them – may even cover it up with saying he's too exhausted tl fight them.
• If they adjusts his blanket, he’ll roll his eyes but not move away.
• He’d eventually let the wall drop with a quiet, gruff, “...Thanks.”
• Mello associates care with vulnerability and loss of control, so accepting it is uncomfortable — but meaningful.
• Deep down, being cared for makes him feel seen beyond his bravado.
• Matt would accept care easily — “If you’re offering, I’m not gonna say no.”
• He’s the most easygoing about being sick.
• He’ll appreciate the care in a lowkey way.
• Matt isn’t used to much outward affection, so them staying close while he’s at his worst makes him quietly grateful.
• He won’t say much — just subtle signs, like cracking a half-smile between coughs.
• He’ll joke through it to keep the mood light like, “I think I’m dying. Bury me with my console.”
• If they bring him medicine or food, he’ll say a warm and lazy, “Thanks, babe."
• If they insist he rests, he’ll protest a little but usually comply — especially if they're firm.
• Near would downplay being sick entirely, insisting it doesn’t affect his performance. He’d keep working through fever or exhaustion until his body literally forces him to stop.
• He’d only tolerate help from someone who approaches it logically, not sentimentally.
• He’d be puzzled by the care more than anything — not rejecting her, but unsure how to interpret the gesture.
• He might ask, “You’re doing this because it increases my recovery rate, correct?” to rationalize their care.
• He’d watch their movements intently, curious about why someone would prioritize him in this way.
• Near associates care with utility, not affection — but repeated, consistent care plants a slow-growing trust.
