Work Text:
I sit back in my desk chair with a sigh. One assignment down, only three more to go. All of them due Monday, of course. I glance at the clock. I’d been hoping to take a quick break between assignments, but this essay took longer than I thought it would - if I don’t finish the other big assignment today, I’ll be in for a bad time tomorrow.
I’m briefly considering jumping right in to the next project when I’m startled by my phone ringing. John’s name appears on the screen. Why would he be calling?
“John? Is something wrong?”
“Wrong?” he responds, sounding surprised. “Not at all. I was just… that is, usually you’re the one calling me up to go out on Saturdays. I was just wondering why I hadn’t heard from you yet today.”
“Oh!” In all honesty, I had forgotten it was Saturday. “Sorry. I’m just… I’ve been busy this week. It totally slipped my mind. We can go out if you want.”
“Are you sure? It’s not like you to be so distracted. I don’t want to pull you away from work if you need to crack down.”
“I can spare an hour or so,” I reassure him. “And honestly, I kind of need the break.”
“Alright.” John seems glad to hear it; his voice is warm through the tinny speaker. “Shall we meet at Café Diem, then?”
“Sounds good. See you there.”
I hang up quickly - neither of us is the type to bother much with pleasantries over the phone, and we’ll see each other in a few minutes anyway. When I stand from my desk chair, I’m overcome with a momentary dizziness, and I have to grab onto the desk to stay upright.
For a moment I’m alarmed, but thankfully the feeling passes quickly. I’m glad John suggested the café. Some food will probably do me good, and then I can get back to my schoolwork refreshed.
John is already there when I arrive. He bends to kiss me on the cheek, but I turn my head and catch his lips with mine instead. He smiles when he pulls away. “As always, milady, you look stunning.”
“Glad that’s the case even when I’ve spent the day doing nothing but schoolwork,” I reply, my smile matching his.
We move to the counter to order, and I opt for the salad. Despite my earlier thought that it would be a good idea to eat, I find once we’re sitting that my appetite is nonexistent. I take a few miniscule bites, but I spend more time pushing the food around with my fork than actually eating it.
“ Sian. ”
I jump. The way John says my name is so insistent, I realize he must have said it at least a few times. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
"Sian, you’re looking a bit pale, love," he says, brow furrowed. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Hm?" I blink at him, my tired brain struggling to process the question.
John reaches out, and next thing I know he's testing my forehead with the back of his hand. He frowns. "You're a touch feverish."
"Oh," is all I can think to say.
He stands from the table and offers me a hand up. "What say you we head to my place so I can look after you?"
A flush rises in my cheeks that has nothing to do with the fever. "Your place?"
A sly grin crosses his face, though it's tempered by the concern evident in his eyes. "Yes, my place. I can hardly make you a nice soup with what they have on hand in the student kitchen, now, can I?"
I accept John's hand up, and he wraps an arm around my waist to steady me once I'm standing. I feel a little guilty for leaving so much food uneaten, but he pays it no mind, ushering me out to his car and into the passenger seat.
"My homework-" I try as he starts up the car.
John shakes his head. "Sian," he says, gentle but insistent, "you're ill. Worry about recovering first. You won't be able to give your best work otherwise."
It's hard to argue with his logic, much as I want to. I give a tired nod and let my eyes fall closed.
I must fall asleep at some point, because I awaken to the feeling of John lifting me from the car. At this stage, I've accepted it's pointless to argue - my exhaustion has really caught up to me, and John won't hear a word of it anyway - so I wrap my arms tighter around him and let him carry me inside. He deposits me gently on his couch, leaving me with a quick peck on the forehead and an "I'll be back in just a moment."
The next time I come to, there's a blanket draped over me. John kneels at my side, one hand cupping my face as he strokes my cheek with the pad of his thumb. "Sian, darling," he says, "the soup's finished, if you think you can manage a bit. Shall I sit you up?"
Concern sits heavy in his voice and on his brow. I give his cheek a playful poke. "What's got you all worried?" I ask.
My teasing seems to relax him a bit, though the smile he gives me is definitely forced. "You're a bit warmer than you were an hour ago is all," he says, placing a hand on my back as I sit up.
"I'm not dying , John."
This earns a laugh. "Of course not. I'm not worried about the severity of your illness." He gets up to go fetch me a bowl of soup. "But knowing how driven you are, Sian, I'm worried that without someone to stop you, you would work yourself into the ground without even considering you ought to rest."
"Hey," I protest half-heartedly as he returns with a bowl on a tray. I balance it carefully on my lap.
John raises an eyebrow as he takes a seat next to me. "You can't pretend my worries are unfounded. Earlier, you seemed shocked by the mere possibility that you might be under the weather."
Despite my earlier lack of appetite, I have no problem digging into John's soup - it smells divine. "Honestly, the last time I got sick was in middle school," I admit. "So I've sort of forgotten what it feels like, I guess."
John gives me an inexplicably fond smile. "Strong immune system, I suppose?" I nod, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders. "No wonder you're so unaccustomed to being looked after," he murmurs, almost to himself.
He lets me eat in silence after that. About halfway through the bowl, I feel my eyelids start to droop. Before I can say anything to John, he's already taking the tray from my slackening fingers. I lay back down as he brings it into the kitchen, and I'm asleep the moment my head touches the couch.
This time, it must be several hours that I’m asleep before I find myself awake again, because night has fallen outside. I’m lying in a bed rather than on the couch. John must have carried me here.
The bed is comfortable, far more than the one in my dorm, so I try to close my eyes and fall back asleep. But I’m kept from sleep by what probably woke me in the first place - the feverish chills racking my body. Despite being curled up in a ball under a thick blanket, I can’t seem to get warm, and my tense muscles begin to ache from the strain.
I stumble out of bed with only one thought in my mind: finding John. I have to lean against the wall for support, and I don’t know the way around his apartment, made all the harder to navigate by the darkness, but I know there’s no way I’ll get back to sleep on my own.
I manage to make it to the living room on shaky legs, and I can just make out the shape of John stretched out on the couch. The memory of him giving up the couch for me in the break room comes to mind, and I smile despite how badly I’m feeling.
“John,” I call from the doorway, not sure I can make it over to the couch without a wall to lean on. My voice comes out weak and quiet, but he sits up immediately, as if he were waiting on me to call him even in his sleep.
“Sian? What’s the matter, love?” John’s voice is sharp with concern. He quickly crosses the dark room and pulls me into his arms. I sink gratefully into his embrace.
“Cold,” I murmur into his chest, able to feel just how bad my shaking is against his solidity. He squeezes me tighter to him, pressing a kiss atop my head.
“I can see that,” he says, and then, under his breath so I almost miss it: “Poor thing.”
He gets an arm under my legs and scoops me up, carrying me close to his chest. Even with my weight in his arms, it takes him a quarter of the time to carry me back to the bedroom as it had taken me to stumble out to him. I’ve long since abandoned the notion of trying to do anything myself in this state - when I got up, it was only to seek out John, and I don’t plan to get up on my own again for a while.
John places me softly back on the bed, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, climbs in himself. “Is this alright?” he murmurs.
“Mm.” I pull him close to me and press my face into his chest, wanting every square inch of my body to be touching his. Already his body heat is seeping into me, and I feel the shaking begin to subside.
John tucks the blankets over us before readily wrapping his arms around me, sealing me in a cocoon of warmth. “Better?” he whispers, lips barely caressing my forehead.
“Mm-hm.”
“Good.” He strokes gentle fingers through my hair with one hand, the sensation soothing me back to sleep. “Sweet dreams, milady.”