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Spacey laid on the sofa, wrapped up in a cosy blanket cocoon. His head was propped up on Wheatley's lap, who watched him with sympathetic expression. Absentmindedly, the Brit ran his hands through Spacey's hair in a hope for it to comfort the sick man.
The two sat in silence. Small streams of sunlight leaked in through the windows and gave the dim room some illumination. Spacey gazed at the thin streaks on the floor with a blank guise. Meanwhile, Wheatley glanced around the unfamiliar room.
He noted the random assortment of items on tables, shelves and anywhere that would hold stuff. There was also a lot of blankets. Like an almost unhealthy amount of blankets just thrown into one corner of the living room. He would have asked if he didn't want the other to try and strain what little of his voice he had left.
A few minutes passed before Wheatley sighed. With a sorry voice he spoke, "sorry for getting you sick, mate." His hand raised up to tensely scratch the back of his head, like it would somehow make the situation better.
Spacey rotated his head up with a confused face.
"You know, I shouldn't have let you stay out for so long." Wheatley answered.
Instead of agreeing, Spacey shook his head. He lifted one of his hands up, grabbing Wheatley's. He quietly brushed his thumb against the palm of the Brit's softly, prompting the other man to blush a light crimson.
"You didn't do anything." A coarse voice replied, "I got myself into this. I guess that's just karma." Spacey chuckled but it only sounded more croaky than a real laugh.
Wheatley cringed. He pulled his hand out of Spacey's weak grip and covered his mouth with it. The ill man was about to protest when he was shushed.
"I don't want you to lose your voice. It's.. it's too adorable for that." Wheatley responded.
Spacey turned his head back, attempting to hide the red painted on his face. Wheatley just grinned, continuing his soothing gesture.
The silence returned once again. This time, more comforting than the last. Spacey moved closer to the other, humming in ease. Wheatley sighed in relief, leaning his head back onto the back of the sofa. No words were exchanged for God knows how long.
".. If it rains again, I'm not going to let you even touch a single bloody raindrop." Wheatley eventually stated.
Spacey giggled. His voice was, of course, still raw but the humour remained as he quietly laughed. Wheatley smirked, "I'm being serious, mate. The moment it starts raining again, I'm keeping a close eye on you." He chuckled.
It took a few minutes for the laughter to die down. Once it did, Spacey looked up at Wheatley with a beaming grin. The Brit smirked.
"If you're trying to convince me to let you go out in the rain next time, it's not going to work." Wheatley joked.
Spacey frowned, turning back. He muttered a quiet "fuck" under his breath. Wheatley immediately began to crack up. His laughter made Spacey smile again, giggling quietly as well.