Note: This is not mine, credits to the writer
Summary: You are sick when Chris suddenly comes back home from a shoot
warnings: None
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You looked haggard; cadaverous even.
Staring into the mirror, a reflection of yourself bounced back. You looked pale, weak, and thinner than usual. You look like a real-life Tim Burton character. Maybe just less attractive.
You felt like garbage; there was no other way of saying it. One night you went to bed and the next thing you know, you're throwing up into the toilet, holding on to dear life, trying not to suffocate. This feeling hasn't passed over the last few days. You knew stomach viruses took at least a week to completely fade, but you couldn't bear the pain. Even worse was the fact that today was the day Chris would come back from his newest movie project, having wrapped up his scenes for 'Knives Out'.
Feeling cold, you waddled back into your bedroom and slid under the covers, pulling the sheet up to your chin, trying to warm up faster.
'Y/N. I'm home.'
Chris' voice woke you up and you weren't too happy.
You jumped out of bed and ran towards the mirror. Within your big pajama shirt, bottoms and a very pinched look on your face, you felt and looked awful.
This is not how you had planned to greet him after months apart.
'Hey Babe, where are you?' you heard him place down his keys.
'I'm upstairs.' you croaked. 'I'll come down.'
You ambled down the stairway, holding on to the rail, afraid you might fall down and be in more pain than you already were.
'Jesus.'
Your eyes locked with his as he appeared in front of you.
'Are you alright?' he held out his hand and carefully led you down the last step.
'I'm fine, just a lousy virus.' Your itchy throat made you cough as you waved him off and headed into the kitchen.
'You don't seem fine, Haven't you been eating?'
'I mean, I do, but I just throw up after..., Chris really, I'm fine.'
'Bullshit. Why didn't you tell me? How long have you been like this?'
'A few days and because I didn't want to distract you,' you stammered before black spots started to dance around your vision.
Chris' arms flung themselves around your body, holding you steady.
'Y/N, you're scaring me. Have you seen a doctor?'
'No I haven't, but it's fine. I used to get like this a lot as a kid.'
'You know I never mind you calling or texting me, you know that...'
Chris placed his hands at the sides of your face, holding your gaze. His thumbs stroked over your cheeks as he placed a soft and gentle kiss onto your forehead. You leaned into his chest, wrapping your arms around his body. A familiar scent of wood and citrus flooded your nostrils, relaxing you.
'I'm so sorry I'm sick Chris.'
He furrowed his eyebrows.
'I knew you were coming back and I was planning on doing this thing with you because you're back home again, and now I feel bad because I couldn't get this right a-'
'Woah, Woah, Woah...calm down.' he pulled your face out of his chest. 'First of all this is not your fault. We all get sick sometimes and Second; It doesn't matter what I come home to—as long as you're there I'm incandescently happy.'
You smiled up at him.
'You overthink way too much. Have I ever told you?'
'Too many times to keep track.' you chuckled.
'Come one.' he said, picking you up bridal style. 'We're getting you back to bed so you can rest up.'
'Chris I'm fi-'
'Ah! I don't want to hear it.'
You gave in and let him carry you back into the bedroom.
'We'll be spending the next few days getting you better again, okay?'
'Fine.'
