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“Would you back off, nurse Ratchet” Mickey rolled his eyes, he was acting like his usual self despite his voice being much quieter, and slightly scratchy. He had survived an entire day, trying to fend off Ian's care-taking.
“Hate to break it to you,” Ian smiled patiently and set a mug of hot tea on the nearby nightstand. “But whether or not you admit it, your sick.” he insisted, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and resting the back of his hand on Mickey's feverish forehead. “And you're not going to get better if you don't let me help you” he went on. Mickey was being a pain, and refusing help. Ian was happy to take care of him, but Mickey's relentless stubbornness was starting to wear on his patience. “Just let me take your temperature one last time and I'll be out of your hair” he promised.
“Take my temperature?” Mickey scoffed. “For what? The sixty seventh time today?” he shook his head. “You need a hobby or somethin' I--” he was cut off mid sentence when Ian slipped the thermometer between his lips mid sentence. Mickey was far from pleased. For a moment there was actually silence and Ian smiled down at Mickey victoriously when there was finally a cease in his protesting.
Soon enough the thermometer beeped and sure enough his fever hadn't settled. It was far from dire, but still quite substantial.
“There” Ian said, standing, and grabbing his jacket off the corner of the bed. “Not so bad, was it?” he asked rhetorically as he headed for the door. Mickey's frown had turned to a look of surprise when he realized Ian was actually leaving.
“Wait” he called. “Wait, you're not actually leavin' are ya?” his brow furrowed, though he tried to mask his disappointment. Ian grinned. Try as Mickey might to hide it, Ian knew exactly what his question really meant. He wanted him to stay.
“I'm going out” he said, turning back to face him. “After all, you're not sick anyways” Ian teased, quirking an amused brow at his bed-ridden friend.
“Yeah well..” Mickey huffed. “Who's to say I won't get sick....if ya leave” He didn't want to ask him out right, to stay. Of course, Ian laughed seeing right through Mickey's act.
“I don't think thats how it works” he crossed his arms skeptically. “Is it the fever talking or is Mickey Milkovich asking me to stay?” Ian smirked.
“Shut up” Mickey rolled his eyes, knowing Ian was getting a kick out of this. But when Ian turned back towards the door it was time to put pride aside. “Stay” he breathed exasperatedly and with the help of some perfectly timed coughs, Ian couldn't say no.
“Alright, tough guy” Ian nodded warmly, tossing his jacket aside and making his way to his side of the bed. “I didn't have any plans anyway” he explained, as he slid himself beneath the covers beside him.
“You're an ass.” Mickey spoke frankly, rolling on his side to face Ian directly. Ian smiled and moved closer so they're foreheads were just resting on each other's.
“You're gonna get me sick, then who's the ass hm?” Ian said accusingly. Mickey had closed his eyes to rest his throbbing head, but he still knew exactly what smile Ian was wearing, and it made him smile too.
“Yeah, you deserve it” Mickey said quietly, holding back a cough. “And I won't be takin' care of ya” it was an empty threat of course.
“Oh yeah you will” Ian laughed. His brow furrowed when he realized Mickey was already falling asleep. Of course he wasn't surprised when he remembered the amount of cough syrup he had given him.
“Will not” Mickey yawned, his response slightly delayed. “..I'll kick you're ass before I end up wiping it” he added. “......tomorrow”
Ian chuckled and sat up to turn the off the nearby lamp. He wasn't tired, but he would happily lay beside Mickey for hours, listening to the rhythmic pattern of his breathing, and stealing his heat. He draped an arm across Mickey's chest, who had shifted to his back when Ian had pulled away from him.
“G'night, tough guy” Ian hummed quietly.