Your boyfriend is tucked into a huge blanket, softly snoring on the couch. He finally looks peaceful, and you feel relieved.
He’s sick. Like, really sick. Like nose-dripping and sore throat and fever sick.
He came home last night from a late night flight back to London while you were sleeping. He’s gotten so good at being quiet that you didn’t even hear him come in. You were only woken up when he crawled into bed and snuggled into you. You vaguely remember telling him you were glad he was home and squeezing his hand before drifting off to sleep again.
That morning, you woke up to a sleeping boyfriend and six new text messages on your phone.
1:04 AM - Kyle
hey!!!!!!! so dan is sick btw.
1:04 AM - Kyle
seriously, he’s miserable. you should make him soup!
1:04 AM - Kyle
and save me some!
1:05 AM - Kyle
i love your soup
1:32 AM - Woody
Hey, just wanted to let you know that Dan caught the flu right after our last show. He didn’t tell you because he didn’t want you to worry. Hope you’re doing well! Take care of that asshole xx
1:47 AM - Will
Dan didn’t want us to worry you but he’s rly sick! Thought it was ok to tell you now since we’re home (WE ALL FELT GUILTY). Tell him to take it easy, we’ve got everything covered.
It warms your heart to see that they care enough to message you about it, but it also worries you. He must be really sick, you think before giving him a once over. You notice that his nose is a little red, and that his breathing doesn’t sound great. You softly raise a hand to his forehead and find it too hot and too clammy for your liking. After a moment of silent debate, you decide to let him sleep in, hoping he’d be able to sleep it off.
Thankfully it’s Saturday, so you don’t have to worry about going to work. You catch up on some reading and do a few chores around the apartment, trying to stay as quiet as possible. When Dan still hasn’t woken up near noon, you decide to go check up on him.
You walk in to find a pile of kleenex on the floor, the box on the pillow next to him. Poor boy, you think sympathetically. You sit on the bed next to him and touch his forehead. He sleepily blinks a couple of times and looks up at you.
“Hey,” he mumbles out, attempting to smile but only succeeding in grimacing.
“Hey,” you reply softly. You smooth out his sweat-drenched hair. “How are you doing?”
“I’m pretty good,” he smiles meekly.
“Yeah? ‘Cause your forehead’s telling me otherwise.” You give him a wry smile.
“I… yeah, I definitely caught something. I feel like shit,” he says, giving you a tight smile. He looks absolutely miserable, hair all sad and floppy and eyes all bleary and fever-bright.
You run your fingers through his hair. “You know, the guys texted me. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”
“Damn. Those bastards.” He at least has the decency to look a bit guilty. “I got sick right after the last show, and only had to do a bit of press after, so it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t want you to worry.”
You raise your eyebrows. Dan shrugs as he smiles sheepishly. “You’re a worrier!”
“Well, I appreciate the concern, but you look pretty darn awful right now.” He laughs at your obvious statement. “And I think you should be the one we’re worrying about.”
You take his hand. “Come on, it’s time to get up, mister. You might be sick, but you can’t stay in bed all day. At least come lie down on the sofa.”
Weakly, he follows you to the sofa in the living room, shuffling slowly and groaning as he works his aching muscles. As he proceeds to collapse ungracefully on the couch, you bring over your comforter, his box of tissues, and his phone from the bedroom, knowing he’d want to stay on top of things even when sick.
“You want a Tylenol for the fever?” you ask after he settles.
You bring over some the pills, along with some honey and lemon tea for his throat. “You wanna watch some TV?” you suggest.
Dan looks up at you, his normally blue eyes almost stormy grey with exhaustion. “Watch with me?”
“Sure,” you agree, but quickly adding in, “But no David Lynch!”
“Oh, come on! I’m sick. I have the sick patient privilege of watching whatever I want!”
You shake your head at his petulant tone. For a grown-ass man, he can sure still sound like a child. When you look back at him, you’re met with big, doe-like, pleading eyes. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no,” you assert, “Don’t give me that look. I am not watching Mulholland Drive again.”
“What look?” he asks, blinking up at you innocuously.
“That puppy dog thing. Stop! I can’t handle those eyes,” you whine.
He smiles, a little colour returning to his dimpled cheeks. Damn, you hate that smile. Okay, you love it. It was a beautiful smile. But it’s dangerous, and he knows it. Coupled with the look he’s presently giving you, he has the power to make you do whatever he pleases.
“Okay, I’m putting on the movie, but I’m leaving to make you some soup. You haven’t eaten at all today”.
“I wanted to watch with you though,” he grumbles, looking up at you hopefully.
Damn those big blue eyes. And that soft hair. And those dimpled cheeks.
“Daaaaan. No. Besides, I promised Kyle I’d make you some soup.”
Using all the willpower stored up inside you, you leave Dan in the living room with the movie on.
You go back to check on him a few minutes later and find him fast asleep again, tucked in his blanket and snoring softly. He looks peaceful and you feel relieved. He looks like he’s going to be fine.
You don’t want to disturb him, so you lower the volume on the television and go back to the kitchen. You flip through a magazine while the soup simmers. You even text a picture of the soup to Kyle, just to torture him a bit.
Twenty minutes later, you bring the soup up in a platter and sit down beside Dan on the sofa. You run your hand over his hair and softly kiss his forehead then his lips.
“Hey,” he says sleepily. “Stop kissing me, you’re going to get sick.”
“I’m sorry, you just looked really kissable,” you reply, shrugging your shoulders with a small smile. “And actually, I got sick while you were away. Hopefully I’m immune.”
“You got sick?”
“Yeah, and my boyfriend wasn’t even there to make me soup.”
Dan’s face clouds over suddenly, and you purse your lips. It wasn’t your intention, but he actually looks a little guilty.
“I’m really sorry that I’m not around much…” he starts.
“Dan, it’s ok,” you cut off with a shake of your head.
“Sometimes I feel like it’s not.”
“It is,” you reply seriously. Because it is. Even if it’s lonely sometimes…
You grab his hand and delicately run your thumb along it. “I brought you some soup,” you tell him, changing the subject and handing him the bowl.
“Mmmm, thank you,” he says appreciatively.
You get up and move to sit at the end of the sofa. Dan moves his legs to let you sit, bringing them back up to rest on your lap.
“So, how come you didn’t tell me you were sick?” he asks between spoonfuls of soup.
“Well… I didn’t want you to worry. I mean, it’s not like you could have done anything about it. You were in… uh, France, I think?”
“Really? So you didn’t want me to worry, huh?”
“If you shut up, I’ll finish the movie with you,” you say.
After staring at your boy for another serious moment, you break off into fits of laughter. Digging around the couch a bit, you find the remote. You turn up the volume and settle in to finish the movie with him.
Yeah, you’ll do just about anything for those blue eyes and that smile.