A violent cough echoes through the room.
You spin around, spotting Spencer swaying with the force of it. As soon as he starts to fall, you jolt forward and slide your arms around his waist, resting your head on his chest as you hold him up.
He pushes away from you, muttering 'I'm fine.'
You hum in amusement, watching him rest almost his whole weight against the counter top.
"Honey," you hum. "You're sick. Go lay down on the couch, I'll make you some soup."
He groans. His face is a sickly pale and his hair sticks to his forehead from the sweat forming on his skin.
You worriedly start to move forward, but he holds out his arm to tell you to stop. "Baby, can you get there? You're sick- I'm happy to help and-"
"No." he coughs. "Don't come near me. If this is the flu the virus can spread even a day before symptoms start showing. Now it's even more contagious and I already kissed you yesterday. A lot. If you haven't already caught it, I don't want to take that chance."
His voice is low and gravelly from his sickness and you feel your face fall when you realize just how bad he sounds.
"Get yourself some orange juice and stay out of the same room as me." He coughs and stumbles out of the room. You walk over to the doorway and watch him drop onto the living room couch, letting out a groan in pain.
You feel awful for him.
You quickly spin around and make your already sleeping boyfriend some soup. He needs liquids and you will nurse him back to health whether he wants you to or not.
As soon as the soup is done, you pour two glasses of orange juice and place everything on a tray, carrying it out to the living room.
You take a sip from your glass and set it down on the table off the tray, just in case. You don't want to get sick, of course- especially not with this- but if getting sick is what makes him better you'd do It any day.
Sure, it's not exactly a life or death situation (thankfully), but it's a start at repaying him for all the times he's been there for you, held you and soothed you and just taken care of you whenever you needed it.
You sit on the small stretch of couch beside his waist, making sure not to push him on him. "Hey, honey, wake up." You whisper, cupping his face with the palm of your hand. His cheeks almost feel like fire under your touch thanks to his fever.
He startles awake, jumping enough to make you glad the soup is still on the table. You chuckle slightly, grabbing the bowl and placing it in your lap. You swirl the spoon through the liquid slowly. "I'm sorry love, i know you're tired."
He groans, wriggling around to get comfortable. He curls up around your body, knees pressed against your side and his warm hand gripping your inner thigh. "Mmm, no- go away." He cries. "You'll-" you use the opportunity to push a spoonful of liquid into his mouth, leaving him coughing and glaring but he opens his mouth for more, enjoying the soothing feeling of the warm liquid as it slides down the back of his throat.
You lift a new spoonful up to his mouth and meet his eyes as his lips wrap around the spoon.
Over and over you repeat the process until the bowl is empty and he's fighting to keep his tired eyes open.
The bowl clanks against the table as you place it back down, but he doesn't even flinch. He's asleep. His hand on your inner thigh moves over to your waist and his other hand snakes across your stomach, mindlessly pulling you into him.
You lay down and hide your head in his chest, breathing in his scent which is only slightly tainted by sweat.
Your arms wrap around him as well and you completely forget about sickness, just enjoying the company and the cuddling.
He hums sleepily and buries his face in your hair, too drowsy to argue with your close proximity.
"I love you." He says, but it comes out muffled and tired.
"I love you too." You feel a smile creep onto your face and press a kiss to his bare chest, making him shiver under your touch.
He quickly falls asleep, his tense muscles falling limp- or at least slightly more limp, against you. Reaching up, you run your fingers through his hair and softly massage his scalp to soothe him into a deeper sleep.
His fever is still there, warming your hand and his hair is sticky with sweat, but you don't mind. Not when he's sick like this.
Because you weren't lying. You really, really, do love him.
