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It was a sneeze, maybe one. Maybe a few. And he felt maybe a little warmer. But none of that’s the reason he’s burrowed himself under the covers of their bed.
“Oliver, I’m serious. It’s just a cold! I don’t need to go see Caitlin!”
“She’s your personal physician, Barry,” Oliver argues, standing at the foot of the bed. He looks a mixture of worried yet aggravated at his curled-up protesting form. “And you’re not supposed to get sick like this, are you? Something might be wrong. STAR would want to know about it.”
“I don’t want to tell them,” he groans, kicking out when Oliver sneaks a - cold - hand under the blankets to try and grab his feet.
“Why not? This is their job.”
“Job? Achoo! This is like their favorite thing,” Barry tells him. “They make your over-reacting seem like relative disinterest. You have no idea how many checks and precautionary scans they’ve run on me since I got my speed - I did a pregnancy test!”
Oliver opens his mouth, but no words come out. He looks like someone’s just smacked him upside the head for a moment, before he gives a single shake. “You’re kidding.”
“Negative,” is all he says flatly in reply. “So please? I don’t wanna go into the lab and get poked at all day. I just wanna lie in bed with some soup, my partner, and Netflix. Can’t we just do that?” He adds a pitiful little sniffle.
“If you’re still like this tomorrow or it starts getting worse–” Oliver begins warningly.
“I will let you call Caitlin and Cisco immediately, no objections,” he agrees grudgingly. Then re-affixes the pleading look on his face.
The older man heaves a sigh, then walks around so he can sit on the side of the bed. “I just worry about you, you know?” He strokes a hand over Barry’s cheek, which he nuzzles into.
“Mm-hm.”
“Fine. We’ll do it your way.” A kiss is pressed to his hair before Oliver’s weight leaves the bed, the other man possibly going to make the aforementioned soup. “But in future, I’d prefer to be listed after Netflix, Barry.”
“I got my priorities right,” he teases back.
They don’t actually end up getting to watching anything though, because soon enough after eating he’s drifting off to sleep in Oliver’s arms, warm and at ease.