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“Dan?” Phil asked nervously as he slowly walked closer and closer to Dan’s door. “Are you alright?”
Dan was a late sleeper, but it was four o’clock in the afternoon and Phil hadn’t seen Dan at all. He had only heard the occasional groan come from Dan’s room. Besides that, he hadn’t heard from him at all and was beginning to wonder whether or not he was awake.
The night before, Dan had been complaining of not feeling well. Phil had been too absorbed in editing a YouTube video to pay much attention to him, but he had given him some medicine in hopes that it would make him feel better.
He was starting to think that it hadn’t made him feel better.
Hesitantly, he opened the door, afraid that he might be intruding on something. But Dan was curled up in a little ball on his bed completely surrounded in tissues. Casting aside all of his inhibitions, Phil walked further into the room until he was standing right next to Dan’s bed looking down on him.
Crouching down to his level, Phil asked him, in the softest voice possible, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Dan rolled over rather reluctantly and stared at Phil with tired eyes. “You can make me some soup and cuddle with me.”
“Okay,” Phil said, “I’ll be right back.”
Before he went, he gave Dan a quick peck on the tip of his nose. Normally, Dan swatted at him when he did that, claiming that it made him feel like he was being babied, but this time, Dan just groaned.
“While you’re at it, you should throw away these tissues.”
Doing as Dan asked—well, said—Phil picked up all of the tissues and put them in the bin nearby. It was gross to touch them, and Phil tried to keep as minimal contact as possible, but Phil loved Dan and he was willing to do anything for him.
(Well, not anything. But he was willing to do a lot.)
They only had chicken soup in the kitchen, so that’s what he made. It wasn’t the best soup, but it would do.
After preparing the soup, Phil carefully made his way back to Dan’s bedroom. Luckily, he had remembered to keep the door open, so that was one less thing that he had to worry about.
Much like before, Dan was hunched over in bed, with his legs tucked under his arms and his face pressed into his knees. It was an odd sight: Dan was so tall, but he looked so small like that.
Making his way over to the bed, Phil said, “I’ve got your soup.” He set the steaming hot soup on Dan’s nightstand. With the soup out of his hands, he walked around the bed and got into it, bringing Dan close to him. Phil continued to hold him as he slowly ate his soup, even though it was an odd angle to work with.
Once Dan was done, he turned over in bed to face Phil, and Phil didn’t waste a single second before he started peppering kisses all over his face.
“Phil,” Dan said, his voice croaky and raw, “if you keep on doing that, you’re going to get sick.”
“I don’t care if you’re sick; I don’t care if you’re contagious. I would kiss you even if you were dead,” Phil sang, a small smile playing on his face. “If I got sick, at least I’d be sick with you.”
“Then I’ll have no one to take care of me.”
“I’d take care of you even if I was sick; don’t worry,” he said, leaning in to give Dan a kiss on the lips this time. It was supposed to be something quick, but Dan picked up the pace quickly and deepening the kiss. After a few, they pulled back, because Dan was sick and short of breath.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
The next morning, Dan and Phil woke up in each other’s arms, and the first thing Phil said was, “I’m sick.” His voice was rough, and he coughed after his words.
“That’s what you get for kissing me when I told you I was sick.”
Leaning in for another kiss, Phil said, “It was worth it.”