It pained you to see him like this. Helpless, frustrated, and sore all over.
Shawn, your poor boyfriend, managed to contract the flu.
Flu season in Toronto is super-dangerous, mainly because it spreads like wildfire. One person gets it, everybody gets it. Some years, you get a break.
This wasn't one of those years for Shawn.
You were mid-dream when you awoke to a violent sound coming from the bathroom. Your clock read 3:50 AM as you realized Shawn was not cuddled up beside you.
Getting up, you tiptoed to your washroom and pushed the door open, greeted by a very sick Shawn hugging the toilet bowl, heaving his guts out.
"Oh no, honey! It's okay, baby, I'm here." you instinctively began consoling him as you sat down on the floor with him, rubbing his back and pushing his curls away from his damp forehead.
Pushing the flusher, you got up to get him a glass of water and some Gravol.
As you stood, he grabbed your knee, pleading with you, "No, please stay. I promise I'm okay. Just stay with me."
"Shawn I'll be right back. Stay put, okay?"
You peeled him off of your leg and hurried into the kitchen, grabbing what you needed and going back to the washroom. He was on the floor and leaning against the wall now, forearm on his head, looking defeated.
"Here, baby, take these. You'll feel better soon, I promise."
Leaving him to take the pills and drink some water, you went into your bedroom and set up some pillows for him to get comfortable, and placed an empty garbage can on his side of the bed.
You went back into the washroom where Shawn was patting cold water onto his face. Coming up behind him, you wrapped your arms around his middle being careful not to move his upset stomach.
Looking up into the mirror, you could see he was crying.
"Baby, what's wrong? Are you okay?" You asked, suddenly even more concerned than you already were.
"Yeah, I just love you. And I'm sorry I'm sick. And you had to see all.. that. I'm just sorry. I love you. So much." He responded, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Your heart swelled and your stomach fluttered. He was just so lovely and pure.
You led him back into bed, propping him up and refilling his water.
He was sick a few times throughout the night, but you were quick to dump and rinse the garbage can for the times he didn't make it to the bathroom.
He thanked you over and over again, but you loved it. Loved taking care of him.
You forced him to eat some toast as the sun came up over the Toronto skyline, becoming more persistent when he protested. He didn't want to eat, and you couldn't blame him, but he had to. And he did.
He was sick all day, and you just snuggled and watched Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, your favourite of the films and his comfort series.
He coughed and puked and cried and apologized, but you knew you were home when his hand found yours. He was all yours, helpless and hopeless, and it was your job to make him feel better.
The snow swirled out the window as you ran him a bath, hoping maybe the heat would settle his stomach. It didn't.
You forced him to drink some orange juice even though the citrus burned his throat a little bit. It was all done with love.
He kept saying he was sorry, but you were sorry. Sorry he had to go through this.
He kept saying he loves you, but you love him more.
More than anything in the world.
