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Jean wakes up to the sound of muffled coughing, the left side of the bed shaking in sync with Marco’s jerking shoulders.
“That doesn’t sound good,” he murmurs, gently pulling Marco over closer to him so that they’re facing.
Marco’s hand is over his mouth and his cheeks are pink. “Don’t get too close, babe. I don’t want to get you sick.”
Jean presses a small kiss to Marco’s forehead. “Let’s get disgustingly sick together and not leave this bed until the new year.”
Marco wrinkles his nose up. “Gross.”
“I’m going to get you a cup of tea, okay?” Jean says, brushing Marco’s hair back from where it’s flopping in his eyes. “Wait here.”
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” Marco says, and as if to prove a point, his chest heaves and he turns away to cough into his palm.
Jean winces and sympathetically squeezes his boyfriend’s shoulder. He slips out of bed and goes to the kitchen to boil a kettle of water.
By the time he gets back with the steaming cup of honey tea, Marco’s fallen asleep again. His face is still that flushed color, and his breathing rattles in his chest.
“Poor baby,” Jean whispers over him, tucking their blanket more securely around him. “I guess that means we won’t be looking at the lights today.” He peeks out of the window, and sure enough, the moonlight dimly illuminates the piles of snow heaped around practically everything outside. Their clock reads 5 am.
Jean checks to make sure the alarm they set is turned off and leaves the tea on the nightstand next to Marco before padding out of the room. He changes into his heavy winter gear, multiple layers of sweaters and socks, a giant snow coat, and of course, a beanie, gloves, and a scarf. He quietly walks around their neighborhood, filming the soft yellow glow of fairy lights strung around roofs and lawns, the little penguins and Santa Clauses that Marco loves slowly waving to him in the early morning. He breathes in the crisp, frigid air and watches the exhalation stream from his lips. It’s strangely relaxing.
By the time he’s satisfied with the footage he’s gotten, he’s beginning to lose feeling in his toes, and starts the trudge back to their apartment. When he gets back to their bedroom, changed into another thick sweater, the sun is just starting to rise, casting a pale light into their room.
He climbs into their bed and Marco stirs.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Jean murmurs. “How are you feeling?”
Marco answers with a wheezing cough and Jean hastily hands him the cup of water he had grabbed on his way back.
Marco sips the water and sighs. “Of course I get this stupid cough when we had actual plans today.”
“That’s okay, babe,” Jeans says, running his hand over Marco’s head fondly. “We can always go another day.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to go today,” Marco says mournfully.
Jean hums and digs his phone out of his pocket. “Here,” he says, handing it to Marco. “I know it isn’t the same as actually going out and all, but. I just thought it’d be better than nothing, you know?”
Marco stares at the phone, the video of Jean quietly walking past all these houses lit up with a warm light against the velvety night sky, no sound except for the crunch of snow under his boots.
“Oh Jean,” he says, a crack in his voice that has nothing to do with his cough.
Jean laughs a little and snuggles his head against Marco’s shoulder. “Don’t cry, dumbass,” he says affectionately. “It’s just a video.”
Marco sniffles and doesn’t say anything, watching the video all the way to the end. “I want to kiss you, but I don’t want to get you sick,” he says hoarsely. Jean turns his head to lay light, butterfly kisses against Marco’s neck.
“I got you, babe.”