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As soon as Paul opened the door, John knew it was bad. Paul looked miserable, with huge bags under his eyes and his body wrapped in a blanket.
“I would ask if you’re feeling better,” John said, “but I’m guessing the answer is no.”
Paul laughed, then winced in pain.
“Don’t push yourself,” John said, leading him back to his bed and placing a container on the nightstand. “I brought more soup.”
“Thanks,” Paul muttered as he lay down. John wished he could do more to help, but Paul needed to rest. So, he said goodbye and turned to leave—
“You don’t need to leave so soon.”
John paused. “What?”
After a moment of silence, an already half-asleep Paul whispered, “Don’t have to leave,” as he scooted over and patted the pillow next to him.
“…Alright,” John said, sitting down on the bed beside Paul, who sighed in contentment and finally let his eyes fall shut.
It took a few minutes of tossing and turning, but Paul soon fell asleep. John began to stand up, but Paul rolled over and nuzzled into his side.
Smiling, John ran his fingers through Paul’s hair. It couldn’t hurt to stay a little longer.