Steve Rogers Imagines

Sniffles

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You heard it before you recognized it.

It was a week ago, over morning tea. Chris had been in his usual seat at the island in your kitchen, one hand wrapped around his cup of tea and the other holding his phone while he swiped through his notifications. You were standing on the other side, sipping at your cup of coffee and thumbing through a magazine that come earlier that week.

Mornings were a peacefully quiet affair for the most part with Chris and you. After a good portion of it was spent with him whining and holding you hostage under the covers with him, you two would get up and get ready on your own pace. Popping in and out of the bathroom and bumping hips, the occasional pat to your bum as he walks by. Yet you always made time to share a cuppa before you were off on your separate ways.

At first you think it's your imagination, or perhaps just a coincidence. Your eyes pause in their trail across the words for a moment, corner of the page caught between your index finger and thumb as you listen closely. You wait for the noise to sound again, but instead you hear the sole sound of Chris sipping his tea. You bite your lip and go back to the article.

When it happens again, though, twice in succession you look up with a frown.

Chris's trying to be inconspicuous about it, pretending to scrunch his nose up as if he has a itch but, you know immediately it's more than that. The tip of his nose, the most adorable nose, is a dull red. Not noticeable unless you're looking at him as intently as you are now, but still red. Your eyes travel over his face and you squint when you realize the bags under his eyes seem more visible than usual and his eyes are a bit puffy. When his nose scrunches up again, and yet another sniffle fills the room you put your cup down and are on other side of the counter in the next moment.

"What're yeh-" He cries in shock as you take his face between your hands, phone clattering to the counter as he turns to face you with his brows furrowed together.

You ignore him, peering closer at his nose before you lift a hand from his cheek to press against his forehead. You frown is more pronounced when your suspicion is confirmed; he is indeed warm, very warm.

"Tryin' to feel me up this early, kitten?" He mumbles, staring up at you with puffy green eyes.

"You're warm..." You mumble, eyebrows furrowing together. Even this morning, his body had felt warmer than usual wrapped around yours.

" Well, we do live in Boston, love." He reassures you with a stuffy voice.

Usually, you'd give into his humor but as you take a closer look at him- he really does look like hell. You feel a pang in your heart; how long had he been sick? You had thought his stuffy voice this morning had been a result of just waking up...

"Chris, how long have you been feeling sick?" You mumble, hand pushing his curls back from his forehead.

He huffs at you, turning completely on the stool and wrapping his arms around your waist as he tugs you between his legs. "Love, m'not -"

"Chris, you look like Rudolph and you don't sound much better, love." You cut him off with a stern look, letting your hands wrap together and rest behind his neck.