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You woke up feeling terrible. You were just fine yesterday. Well, maybe. Your throat did a little itchy, and you were coughing a bit.
Your throat was sore, and your head was killing you. Not to mention the body aches you got all over. The feeling of being cold but hot at the same time was emerging. Looking over, you noticed the usual spot Bob was in was empty. He probably got up not too long ago.
Not feeling like getting up. You stayed in bed and wrapped the warm, soft blanket around you. You could feel your headache getting worse as you kept sniffling and coughing.
Yeah, you weren't getting up. You were going to stay in bed and skip out on work. Reaching over for your phone, you quickly texted your supervisor and tossed it to the side once you finished sending the message. You didn't even bother to know what they replied with.
A cold chill ran up and down your body, causing you to shiver. You coughed harshly as you held the blanket even closer to yourself, but at the same time, you felt uncomfortably hot.
You tried to get comfortable. Tossing and turning, feeling like you're half-dead and half-alive, and cold and hot all at the same time. Eventually, you found a good position, closed your eyes, and allowed the comfort of sleep to take over you. You were really hoping you could just sleep the pain away.
‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊
Hearing the door open to the bedroom, you woke up. It only felt like you'd only closed your eyes for a few minutes, though.
You saw Bob standing by the door, light from the hallway flooded past him and into the dimly lit bedroom, causing strain to your eyes. Was it nighttime yet?
"Lambchop, you a'right in there? It's already half-past one, 'n yer still in bed."
With a grumble and a sniffle, you shook your head. You definitely were not alright.
Bob made his way over to you and pressed his large hand against your forehead. His hand felt a little cold and refreshing. You noticed that there was the distinct smell of dish soap. He must have just finished washing his hands in the kitchen not too long ago.
"Oh, sweet cheeks, you've got a fever, yer burnin' up, hun," Bob muttered. He kept touching the cheeks of your face, realizing that he could cool down your skin. "I'll take care of ya. Now, don'tchu move, I'll be right back." Bob left the room and headed over to the bathroom.
You made weak little grunts, too much in pain to verbally say anything. Even if you didn't reply at all, it wasn't like you could go anywhere, anyway. All you could really do was close your eyes and allowed yourself to go back to sleep.
Or, at least, tried to.
After closing your eyes, you just kept them shut, too sick to even keep them open. You just listened in the background noises, listening to Bob rummaging around in the bathroom. There was a sound of a squeaky door being opened and closed, soon followed by the sounds of running water.
Not too long after, you heard Bob’s heavy footsteps shuffling back into the bedroom and placed something cold on your forehead.
Barely opening your heavy eyelids, you saw Bob was looking down at you with a soft look on his face. “Feelin’ better?”
You gave him a silent nod, and it seemed like Bob was satisfied with that.
"Okay, I'm gonna go make ya somethin' and bring you some medicine, a'right?"
You gave him another silent nod, letting him know you heard him.
"Get some rest." Bob walked out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him.
Once he left, you immediately went back to sleep. The only thing you could do until he comes back.
‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊
"Hey, darlin’. Darlin’, wake up, I gotcha some things.”
You felt the rag get pulled off your forehead. Groaning, you woke up from your brief slumber.
Bob had at some point brought in a chair, and he was sitting on it as he held on a bed tray. “Ah, there ya are, sweet cheeks. Can ya sit up fer me fer just a second?”
Listening to what he asked, you sat up and leaned your back against the headboard of the bed.
"Here, I made ya some good ol’ fashioned chicken noodle soup. Just like how my mama used to make it.” Bob placed down the bed tray in front of you on your lap. In a white, floral patterned bowl, there was chicken noodle soup. Nothing like from the can stuff. You can tell it was made from scratch.
Taking the spoon that was laying beside the bowl, you picked it up and dipped it in the soup, scooping up some vegetables and noodles.
“Be careful, now. It’s really hot,” Bob warned, making sure you didn’t go and burned yourself by accident.
“Okay,” you said in a soft whisper. Blowing on the hot broth and ingredients on your spoon, you carefully placed it in your mouth. It was a little hot, but luckily, you were able to savor the taste and could still taste the flavor of everything.
“It’s really good, thank you, Bob,” you said, wincing a bit from the pain from your throat.
“Yer welcome, darlin’. Now, eat up before it gets cold.”
As you continued to eat your soup, Bob sat by you patiently, watching you eating it up quickly. After you were done, he took the bed table out of your way and held some water and over-the-counter medicine, handing them to you.
Not hesitating at all, you took it and swallowed it down and took the water to go with it. You cringed in pain as it goes past your sore throat. After the initial pain left, you let out a sigh of relief.
In the meantime, Bob left and got your rag soaked in cold water again in the bathroom.
“Bob, I feel like I need to get up. I can’t be in bed all day,” you grumbled as he placed the cool, damp rag on your forehead.
“No, no. You needa rest, darlin’. Did ya know that sleep helps boost yer immune system when yer sick? It’ll help ya get better faster.”
“Oh, I guess if you put it that way…”
“Mhm, now lay down. ‘N if ya need anythin’ just call me. Yer phone will be right ‘ere.” He placed the phone right beside you, where you can grab it easily.
Once you laid down, you could feel yourself going back to sleep. Your body really wanted you to rest for the rest of today.
‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊
Bob came into your shared bedroom once in a while, giving you food and water. You haven’t left the room hardly at all, you only left to go to the bathroom. But then you would immediately go back to bed and fell back asleep because of how fatigued you felt.
Later that evening, Bob walked into your room once last time to check up on you and brought you some more medicine for tonight. “Hey, you okay?” Bob called out in a husky whisper.
“Yeah,” you whispered back.
Bob walked over to you and handed you the medicine. After taking it, you placed the cup of water on the bedside table. Meanwhile, Bob was making his was on his side of the bed and got in, laying an arm across your abdomen and getting too close for comfort.
“Bob, don’t. You’re going to get sick, too,” you said in a hoarse voice. You started to cough roughly, emphasizing your point.
“It’s a’right, I like ta think I have a pertty strong immune system.”
You didn’t want to keep pushing him about it and let it go. Besides, you actually liked Bob being there with you.
The two of you laid there in silence, except for the occasional sniffles and coughs from you. But there was a problem. Now that you had to go to sleep, your body wasn’t letting you, and it annoyed you. Closing your eyes, you forced yourself to sleep, but it was just barely working.
"Bob?" you croaked out, wincing as you spoke.
Bob looked at you a bit worried, wondering what was wrong. "What is it, darlin'?"
"I can’t sleep…”
Bob hummed, “Well, what would ya like me to do?”
Pausing for a second, you finally spoke up, “Can you… sing to me?"
“Sing to you? But, I’m not that great of a singer…” Bob said, laughing a little at himself.
You pouted a bit, giving him your best begging face. “Please? I think you’re a great singer.”
He stared at you for a moment and then did a small chuckle. “A’right, if ya insist, sweet pea. What do ya want me to sing?”
Giving yourself some time to think, you found a song you wanted him to sing to you. You told Bob the song, and he nodded, adjusting himself on the bed as he cleared his throat.
“I might be a li’l rusty, but I’ll do my best.” Bob started off with the melody slightly off, but after a few words in, he got into the song better.
As he was singing, he was gently patting the beat with his hand against you, giving you that extra sense of comfort.
You weren’t sure why or how, but it helped you feel sleepy. You listened to the sweet lullaby from Bob while feeling the soft pats on your body.
Focusing on all the intonations and his gravelly voice, it helped you finally drift off into a deep slumber.
‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊
COUPLE DAYS LATER
Bob coughed and blew his nose obnoxiously loud into a tissue.
You groaned as gave Bob a look. In the last couple of days, he kept getting too close to you when he knew he shouldn’t have.
And now, he was sick too.