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Kyle was never a particularly heavy sleeper, so when the first thing he processes is some quick footsteps and then the sound of muffled vomiting—accompanied by the faucet of the bathroom sink running in a seeming attempt to mask the sound of the contents of someone’s stomach exiting them. A harsh breath exhales from Kyle’s lungs as he looks over at the clock on his nightstand—0328. Right. It takes him a moment to process it’s you who is throwing up, but when he finally realizes—he sits up whilst throwing his blanket to the side, worry beginning to scratch at his own stomach. Kyle opens his bedroom door and he quickly makes his way down the hall to the shared bathroom, where he finds the door cracked and the light streams through, beaming onto the floor. Kyle calls for your name gently, tapping his knuckles against the cracked door with one hand, the other holding the handle to keep the door in place. He respects your privacy as much as he can. You moan in pain, a sickly wet cough leaving him before you croak out a quiet “come in”.
Kyle opens the door after letting go of the doorknob, and his chest tightens at the sight of you, hunched over the toilet, your legs curled against your body, with a wad of toilet paper in your hand. “Oh, sweetheart,” He murmurs, his eyes raking over your form. He notes the way your shirt is damp, likely from sweat and the way your forehead and cheeks shine with sweat supports his thought. “You’ve gotten sickly, it seems.” You huff, wiping the toilet seat down with the wad of toilet paper, dropping it into the bowl and you flush it with a lighthearted, “no shit”. Kyle grabs the cup that sits by the bathroom sink that’s usually used for gargling water, and he swiftly washes it out and fills it up with some water. “Here, wash the taste out of your mouth, yeah?” Kyle hums, his hand clasping yours and helping you to your feet. You make a noise of appreciation, your eyebrows furrowing into a tight grimace from the scratching pain deep in your throat.
You take the cup and you gargle the water, and you jolt a bit when you feel a soft material dabbing at the back of your neck. You spit out the water and you look over at him with a weak, questioning look. “Just wiping your sweat, love.” Kyle responds, in which you feel your cheeks burn embarrassment and you try to gently wack his hand away. “Nuh uh uh—Let me help you,” He laughs softly, his lips curling into a smile as he swats your hand away, continuing to soak up some of your sweat. “Look, let me grab you some clothes and you can take a shower, or a bath. Whatever you prefer. I’ll get you some soup, and I’ll pick up some medicine.”
You blink for a moment and you try to hide your forming smile, which works by accident because the pain behind your eyeballs suddenly wants you to know that it’s still there. “Kyle, y’can go back to bed, it’s late—“ Kyle puts a finger up and begins to interrupt you. “I don’t care that it’s late, [name]. You’re sick, and I want to help you out.” Kyle tilts his head for a moment before exiting the bathroom without allowing you to get another word in, taking the sweat soaked towel with him. You blink blankly at the door and you sigh, which turns into a harsh cough due to the tickle in your throat.
You shiver, feeling both uncomfortably warm and cold, so you decide on a lukewarm shower. After undressing, you sit on the bathtub floor, under the stream, the head of the shower angled so it hits the back of your head, streaming down your back and into the tub. You don’t know how much time has passed when you hear Kyle knock, but you disregard that thought when he begins to speak. “Hey, I got you some loose clothes right here. You don’t have much thin stuff, so the shirt’s one of mine; one of my workout shirts if that’s alright.” Kyle shouts over the water, and he sounds a bit far away, so he’s probably still by the door. “Yeah,” You croak. “Thanks, Kyle. You.. You can leave it on the counter.”
You see Kyle’s silhouette behind the shower curtain and you can vaguely make out that he has a jacket on. He makes a quiet noise as he collects your sickly soaked clothing before suddenly his hand comes from behind the front of the shower curtain, a mouth thermometer in his grasp. You can’t help the laugh and you take the thermometer from him. You take your temperature and you don’t bother to look, a feverish mistake on your part, and you hand it back to Kyle. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and he shuffles behind the curtain before he starts speaking again. “You got a fever, it’s not too bad. I’ll be back.”
You only respond with a groan and he trails out of the bathroom. It takes a lot of energy from you to get up from the bathtub floor, but you manage to get yourself up and turn the water off, as well as drying yourself off. You feel a bit better than before, but you can practically feel the sickness dripping down your throat.. Or, more likely so, that’s mucus. You blink at the clothes that Kyle grabbed for you—some pajama pants you own, a pair of your underwear, a pair of socks if you wish to wear them, and a thin, sleeveless shirt. You pick up the black shirt and you slip it on, mentally noting in the back of your mind that it smells like his room, and you slip the underwear and pants on, and you take the socks with you just in case you want them later. You groan quietly as you exit the bathroom, the pressure behind your nose and eyes announcing its presence once again. You find the living room light to be left on, so you trail yourself down the hall to the living room instead of back into your room.
You walk through the connected kitchen/dining room area before finding yourself at the couch, and there lies a pillow—which you later find out is Kyle’s—as well as your favorite blanket. You can’t help the smile that appears on your face as you grab the blanket and wrap it around your shoulders, and you spot the glass of ice water on the coffee table with a messily written sticky note attached to it. You sit on the couch next to the pillow before you grab the glass, taking the sticky note off and reading it.
“Went to the corner store 4 meds. We ran out, take care of urself more when i’m gone xx -kyle”
You let out a small breath in amusement, and you cover your mouth as you cough, and you take a long, slow sip of the ice water, which does feel very nice going down into your empty stomach. You grab the remote after putting the glass down as well as the note, and you lay down. You hum for a second as you turn the TV on and turn on YouTube, and you turn on a random video.
Kyle gets home after about an hour because the first store he walked to didn’t have the medicine that he needed, but he picked up a few snacks before he headed to the next. He unlocks the door with his keys, and he kicks off his shoes after putting the bags on the ground–and untying his shoes, of course. He sees that the TV is on, which brings a small smile to his face. “You still awake?” Kyle questions gently, just in case you were able to fall asleep. You let out a noise to let him know you’re still awake, and he nods to himself. Kyle takes his jacket off and hangs it up on the coat rack by the door, grabbing the plastic bags and he heads over to the couch. He doesn’t hold back his grin, and he lets out a quiet “awee” as he puts the bag on the coffee table. You try to sit up, but Kyle tsks and shakes his head. “No, just keep laying down, yeah? No reason to sit up.” He hums as he takes out some tylenol, a sinus and throat medicine, as well as some food and a couple bottles of ginger ale.
“You don’t have to,” You whisper, a small ball of shame burning in your gut. You don’t want Kyle to spend his leave time taking care of you, but he just looks at you with a pointed look before he responds. “I want to.” Kyle responds, swatting at your stretched out legs. You try to hide your smile, which you fail, and you curl your legs closer to yourself under the blanket to let him sit down, which he does. “Is this your pillow?” You ask as you watch him tear open the small packages surrounding the bottles of the medicines. Kyle nods and glances at you as he opens the Tylenol bottle. “I made sure to get medicine that isn’t infused with Tylenol, considering we ran out of it whilst I was away.” You feel Kyle’s side eye at you so hard and you can’t help but laugh, looking at him. You ignore how he changes the subject.
“You’re going to get sick if you don’t sanitize this pillow after.” You try to continue what you were talking about earlier and Kyle playfully mocks you under his breath, taking out two pills. “Mhm, you’ll never survive without me since you went so long without medicine!” Kyle jokes, putting the two tablets in his lap. You shake your head, which you quickly stop because it feels like your brain was bouncing around the inside of your skull painfully. Kyle grabs a gel pill and puts it into his palm, and he picks up the Tylenol again. He holds it out which you graciously take, quickly sitting up. You grab the glass of water and take the pills with the water, and you put the water down. “So,” Kyle begins, grabbing the plastic bags and putting them into his lap. “I grabbed you some soup, several flavors because I’m not sure about you, I want more than just one flavor. I also grabbed some crackers, ginger ale, some..”
The sound of Kyle’s voice burns out as you focus on all of the items he’s taking out of the bags—just for you because you’re sick. Your eyes lift to Kyle, who is apparently still speaking, but again, you don’t pay any mind. You try to blame it internally on your feverish brain as you think about how pretty he looks, and how kind he’s being, how much care he holds in his eyes when he looks at you. Which he is now looking at you, his eyebrows furrowed together in concern. “[Name],” He calls out, bringing you back to reality. You hum as a question, finally making complete eye contact. He lets out such a beautiful laugh—you think—and he shakes his head. “Shame on me for rambling while you’re sick, hm?” He jokes before putting the items of consumption on the coffee table. “Rest, sweetheart. I’ll be here to take care of ya.”