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Sam knew something was wrong the moment he walked in the door and his throat felt like it was on fire and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed. It started in the middle of the night when he woke up shivering and he couldn’t breathe through his nose.
“Great,” he sniffled when he saw his temperature: 38.6°C.
He put on his thickest sweater and climbed back into bed, but he found that trying to go back to sleep was harder than he thought. It didn’t matter what position he was in, he just couldn’t breathe. It got to a point where his head started to hurt from his sleepiness and the congestion, and he didn’t know if he was just going to give up on sleep.
He grabbed his phone to check the time, but he couldn’t help but smile a little when he saw his wallpaper of you and him on vacation at the lakes. Sam couldn’t help but wish you were there with him right now, but he didn’t want to wake you or bother you with a silly little cold. He eventually fell into a very shallow sleep, sitting up against the headboard.
It was around 8 a.m. when you got to Sam’s apartment, excited to see him after he'd been gone on a trip for weeks. You found him slumped on his dining table, wrapped in blankets and a bowl of soggy cereal in front of him.
“Oh, my god, Sam, are you okay?” You quickly took your scarf and your jacket off, then walked over to him and placed your hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up.”
All he could reply was a little grunt as he sniffled.
“Did you sleep at all?” You took the bowl of cereal to the kitchen and Sam shook his head.
“Barely,” his voice was deeper than usual and you noticed he was breathing through his mouth.
“Oh, Sam,” you walked back to him and helped him move to the sofa.
Sam was shivering and he felt exhausted as he watched you go into his bedroom, listening to the sound of you rustling around in his closet. You eventually came out with a light blanket that you wrapped around him.
“Is that better?” You asked and Sam nodded. You stuck the thermometer into his mouth to check his temperature and he took your hand as you waited. His hand was warmer than usual and you couldn’t help but give him a kiss on the cheek.
He still had a fever and you frowned.
“Take your sweater off,” you ordered.
“What for?”
“You still have a fever, Sam. You need to cool down.”
He didn’t say anything as you helped him out of his sweater. You noticed he had a hazy look in his eyes and he could barely keep them open.
“I’ll make you some congee. It doesn’t seem like you’ve eaten at all.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Sam mumbled. “I’ll be fine. Really. And I don’t want you getting sick too.”
You ignored him as you went to the kitchen, prepping the soup. A pang of guilt hit Sam as he heard you humming in the kitchen. He didn’t think he was worth you wasting a perfectly good Sunday taking care of him. After all, he’s gotten through thousands of colds and fevers before with no one to dote on him the way you were doing that moment. Still, a warm feeling spread through his chest as you started softly singing, and he knew that wasn’t the fever.
Sam groaned as he put a spoonful of rice in his mouth.
“What? Is it bad?” You asked.
He shook his head. “I can’t really taste anything right now, baby, but…” Sam sniffled.
“But?”
“I can’t…” He put the spoon down. “I can’t breathe when I’m eating.”
“Sam,” you placed a hand on his cheek. “You have to eat.”
He groaned again and you took the spoon, scooping up a little of the congee and held it up.
“Open up, buttercup,” you pushed the tip of the spoon against his lips and Sam rolled his eyes before taking in the food and quickly swallowing it.
He wouldn’t admit it, but it felt a little nice to have some warm food go down his aching throat, he just didn’t know how he felt about you spoon feeding him.
“You really don’t have to spoon feed me,” he pouted.
“Pfft,” you waved him off before scooping up more food. “If I don’t force feed you, you’re not going to eat. I know you, Sam. You’re stubborn.”
Sam opened his mouth to say something, but found he couldn’t say anything.
“Just let me take care of you, okay?” You pushed back some hair off his face.
Tired, he simply nodded and let you feed him more porridge.
After some food and a cup of hot ginger-lemon tea, Sam was feeling a little better. He watched as you came back from the kitchen with a cool, damp cloth and wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you onto his lap.
“Thank you,” he whispered as you placed the cloth on his forehead.
“You know I’ll do anything for you, right?” You gently caressed his cheek.
“I can never understand why.”
You kissed him softly.
“Babe,” Sam pulled away. “You’ll get sick.”
“I’ll be fine,” you replied.
Sam smiled at you. “You’re just as stubborn as me, you know that, right?”
“That’s why you love me.”
“Can’t deny that,” he laughed before bursting into a coughing fit. “Oh, I feel like shit.”
You climbed off his lap and helped him lie down on the couch. “Get some sleep, my love.”
Sam simply nodded as he laid his head on the soft pillow under him. He closed his eyes, but he still couldn’t breathe. He turned to his side, then the other side, but it wasn’t any better.
You noticed him fidgeting around and you sat down on the sofa.
“Come here,” you guided his head in your lap, stroking his head.
Exhausted, Sam just gave in, the feeling of your hand on his head and the warmth of your lap finally lulling him to sleep.