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He knows something is wrong when his alarm goes off.
Milo doesn’t hate mornings, like some of his packmates, but he’d choose a relaxing lay-in if he could. His mate, however, is usually up first; bustling around the little kitchen, coffee pot running, filling Aggro’s food dish.
Milo hasn’t been woken up by his alarm in the months since Sweetheart moved in. Sometimes he wakes when they climb out of bed or he wakes to their hands carding through his hair and a coffee mug in their hand. On the rare, blissful days they both don’t have to work, he wakes to their wandering hands – or lips.
But today he can feel them, warm and solid, head tucked against his chest. They murmur sleepily in Spanish, too quickly for him to translate, and tighten their grip on his tee shirt.
The day is overcast, the light barely filtering through the curtains. He shifts his eyes so he can stare into the gloom without having to move too much. His phone has quieted for now, but is still lit up. Their phone lies next to his, their glasses next to that. He cranes his neck to see the time.
An hour past when his mate usually gets up for work.
'Sweetheart, hey, come on.' He shakes their shoulder. There's another mumbled stream of Spanish and a soft whine as they squint up at him. 'Hey, are you off today?'
They blink slowly. 'No,' they say at last. 'I've got to sort all the paperwork for the arrest last night. Then I've got to –' they trail off into a yawn followed by a sharp grimace.
Milo's attention snaps to their face and the furrow between their brows.
'What is it? What's wrong?'
''S nothing, bit of a headache.' They go to shrug but stop, their mouth pulling into a harsh line. 'And feeling a bit sick.'
He gently slides his hand over the nape of their neck and presses the back of his hand there. His stealth normally runs cool, or cooler than him at least. Another side effect of their powers; blending in and being harder to sense.
But now they're warm against his skin. He moves his hand under their chin and tilts their head up to look at him. Their eyes are hazy, struggling to bring him into focus.
It takes just a hint of his magic to reach out for their core; he's as familiar with it as his own now. It's there, if he stretches, softly humming across his threads, but painfully muted even for them.
He narrows his eyes. 'How much magic did you use last night?'
They tense, their jaw going tight under his hand. Their gaze dips down. He can see them swallow. 'Nothing major. I had to chase the suspect through a building. Pretty standard.'
'Bullshit.' Milo reaches across them – too hot, they're too hot – and turns on the lamp. They groan and burrow back into his shirt. 'Your temp is up, you've got a headache and –' his breath catches, 'I can barely feel your magic.'
'I'm a stealth –'
'Don't try that on me, sweetheart. You're my mate, I can always sense you. When you say chased a suspect through a building…?'
They sigh and turn to look up at him, bottom lip caught between their teeth. 'We knew the vamp was in the building, we just didn't know how far into the building. There were a few more walls than I was expecting.'
'Shit.' He grabs his phone off the bed side table, turning off the alarm before it sounds again and scrolls through his contacts.
'What are you doing?'
'Calling in a favour Ash owes me. Then I'm going to call your boss and tell them you're not coming in.'
'What, no!' They scramble to sit up, fingers digging into his wrist as they squeeze their eyes shut and swear. 'There is paperwork I need to do and I need to give a statement,' they say through gritted teeth.
'What you need to do, sweetheart, is rest.' Milo cups their cheek with his free hand before gently kissing their forehead. 'You are one of the most powerful people I know. It's borderline terrifying, you know, and very intimidating.'
'You were never intimidated by me.'
'Yeah, well at first I was too distracted by your pretty face and then you tried to heal me – ow. Anyway, the point still stands; you're fucking amazing. But everyone has limits. You can't keep pushing yours.'
'Milo, baby–' they start but he cuts them off with a kiss.
'No, hear me out, please. You are strong and capable and I love that about you. Fuck sweetheart, it's hot as hell really. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve to be looked after from time to time. So let me cash in a favour and take care of you today.' He raises one eyebrow. 'Or I could tie you down and make you?'
'I'd like to see you try,' they mutter, but allow him to press them down into the bed anyway.
He pulls the sheets back over them and tucks them in, brushing stray hair out of their face. 'I would enjoy every minute of it. Go back to sleep.'
They mumble something, their words already slurring and eyes closing. Milo grabs his phone and tiptoes out of the room.
Milo sorts the day off quicker than he expected. Asher agrees as soon as Milo gets the words out, promising it's no problem. Then he rings Sweetheart's boss at D.U.M.P., a no nonsense air elemental, who listens quietly before telling Milo to 'Look after my best Stealth,’ before hanging up.
Word travels fast though and he spends the next few hours explaining to a handful of packmates, David, David’s mate, Asher's mate, and his own mother, that ‘Yes, they’re fine,’ and ‘No, no one needs to swing round.’
Sweetheart just needs rest and not the – very much appreciated, but slightly overbearing – concern of the pack. He knows it would make their skin itch, his mate too prideful to stand being fussed over.
He finally manages to hang up on his mother with a promise to swing by for dinner soon when he hears the bedroom door creak open.
His mate shuffles out with Aggro curled up in their arms, their hair pulled back in a sloppy bun, wearing only one of his old hoodies and a soft pair of gym shorts.
'I’m just finishing up lunch, sweetheart. You can turn right around and I’ll bring it to bed,’ Milo calls. ‘You’re supposed to be resting.’
They drop Aggro near his food dish, scratching behind his ear, before moving behind Milo and wrapping their arms around him. They nuzzle into the crook of his neck.
‘Smells good.’
Milo tangles his fingers in their hand resting on his stomach. ‘Damn right it does. Don't you think your man knows how to take care of his mate?' He lifts their hand and brushes his lips over their knuckles.
They hum consideringly. 'This your mom's matzo ball soup?'
He scoffs. 'This is my matzo ball soup. I made it, carefully and lovingly, for you.'
'Uh huh. Lovingly made from the matzo balls your mom left in the freezer last week?'
He knows it's a tease. He can hear the laughter in their voice and feel the suppressed shiver of their laughter. They're a menace though so he nips at their fingers, hands still tangled together.
'You're lucky you're sick, you fucking brat, or I'd –' he stops short as they press their forehead to his back. He can feel the ragged drag of their breath even through his thin shirt. He tightens his grip on their hands and rubs his fingers gently over their knuckles.
'Sweetheart –'
'I'm okay,' they whisper, brushing their lips over the back of his neck, 'just a bit dizzy.'
'Go back to bed. I'll bring you lunch, okay?'
'You can't eat soup in bed,' they mutter, leaning more heavily against him.
'The couch then. Sweetheart, please,' he turns off the stove and twists, loosening their grip until he can pull them into his arms. Their skin is still too warm under the brush of his lips, their body sagging against him.
Pushing themselves, they're always fucking pushing themselves and the wolf is snapping under his skin. He takes a deep breath, burying his nose in their hair and settling himself before he speaks.
They beat him to it. 'I know you're mad at me.'
'Not mad, sweetheart. Come on.' He slides his fingers under their chin, quietly asking them to lift it. Their eyes are still a little bloodshot and there is a sharp furrow between their brows. 'Not mad. Worried and concerned. And frustrated you won't let me look after you. But then again, I went and fell in love with an infuriating brat so –' he taps the tip of their nose.
'Te quiero, pero eres ridículo,' they mutter but there's a quick little upturn of their lips and it makes his stomach flutter, like always.
Damn, but he loves them too.
'And you knew I was protective when you fell in love with me, so that's on you. Couch, sweetheart, now.'
They let him shuffle them backwards, taking most of their weight when they get dizzy again, and deposit them on the couch. He pulls the blanket off the arm to wrap it around them. Once they're settled he draws them closer and kisses them slow and sweet.
They are breathing heavily when he pulls back, but not from pain. Their eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and their hands are tangled in his shirt, trying to drag him closer again, searching for his lips. He can feel their aura, still muted but more present than before; a flame flickering to life.
'I'm just getting us lunch and then –' he laughs as they nip at the line of his chin, 'Could you wait five minutes? Jesus, you're impossible. I am just going to get us lunch while it’s hot.’ He dodges out of their reach before they can wrap their arms around him again.
By the time he returns with the soup bowls, they’re burrowed down into the blanket, breathing slightly laboured. He goes to press his hand to their forehead but they shift away from him, sticking out their tongue. It's so cute Milo can’t help but laugh.
They eat in the easy silence of long time couples. Sweetheart does point their spoon at him threateningly when he asks, saccharine sweet, if they need him to feed them, but they let him snuggle in close, knees knocking and arms brushing.
Aggro wanders past their feet, pausing for pets and affection but leaves when he realises they won't share their lunch. Milo finishes first and watches Sweetheart carefully for any sign of pain while they eat.
Satisfied they are better than this morning, he piles their empty bowls on the coffee table and turns on the TV, aimlessly scrolling through Netflix, looking for something light and mindless.
'How you feeling then sweetheart? Better?'
'Much better, thanks.' They roll their neck and relax their shoulders. 'Bit sore, but less nauseous. You don't think your mom can put healing magic in her soup, do you?'
'As I already told you, I made that soup for you,' he wraps an arm around their waist and tugs until they're nearly in his lap, legs over his and head tucked up against his chest, 'so the only healing magic in it is my love.'
They smack him lightly across the chest. 'Don't make me laugh,' they groan. 'That was sappy, even for you.'
'Can't a man be sappy about his mate? Even if that mate is a stubborn, impossible, menace of a human, who lives to give him a heart attack and wouldn't know how to look after themselves with an instruction manual –'
'I did manage to survive before I met you,' they interject.
'Sweetheart, when we met, you were trying to hunt down a shade single handedly. It's a miracle you lived as long as you did. Though I gotta say,' he kisses their temple, 'I'm really fucking glad you did.'
'Sappy.'
'Yeah, yeah. You got me. I'm going to be sappy all day, while I sit right here and hold you in my arms until you're back to one hundred percent. Tomorrow you can go back to risking life and limb, but not today. Today, you're going to let me take care of you, okay?'
'Okay,' they reply, burrowing in close and tangling their hands together. 'I can give you today.'
'Thank you.' He shifts them slightly, so they can both see the TV, and retucks the blanket around them. Aggro wanders back and jumps up, settling himself on Sweetheart's lap and headbutting them until they scratch under his chin.
Milo doesn't pay much attention to the show, his eyes on his mate. Their eyes grow heavy, then slide closed, fingers threading through Aggro's fur until they finally go still.
Yeah, he'll take care of them as long as they'll let him. He'll take care of them forever.