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8:30, is the time the clock reads when you groggily open your eyes, eyes burning as you feel the cool, winter sunlight shine on you. Groaning, you turn, burying your face in Hobie’s pillow, breathing in his familiar scent, his pillow cold, yet comfortable after three and a half hours of no use. Ah, it was blissful against your warm, sweaty skin. You knew you had to get up. You were supposed to be up an hour and a half ago. You’d go for a shower, and all would be good. The only issue was moving from the spot you were laying in. You cough loudly and sit up, reaching for a tissue as you feel the urge to sneeze.
He enters your line of vision, and your sneeze dies in your throat.
Hobie grins, flashing you his usual smirk, carrying a bowl of steaming hot something, and he has a damp cloth over one arm. A thermometer sits in the front pocket of his flannel button up t-shirt, and there is a packet of tablets hanging out of his jeans pocket.
“Awake, sleepy-head?” He sits down next to you, gently unwrapping the blanket from where you’ve tightly cocooned yourself in it.
“ Hey! ‘m cold!” You sniffle, weakly reaching for the blanket. “Why’d you let me sleep in? I was supposed to tend ta’sheep today-”
“Done already. You were coughin’ all last night. Though I’d let you off for a day.” He says casually, and you almost melt at how sweet he is. He chuckles, placing the back of his palm on your forehead, before pretending to burn himself on you, yanking his hand away.
“Jesus, babe, I knew you were hot, but I was not expecting that!” He teases as he passes you a glass of water and the packet of meds, and you have to force yourself not to grin.
You sneeze again, then frown, angry at the sneezes for sneaking up on you again. He laughs, gently pressing the cool cloth to your forehead, and you sigh in relief.
“You look adorable when you pout, love.” He smiles, setting the bowl down on the bedside table. You peer over and see that it’s full of vegetable soup, warm and steaming.
“You make that?” You gesture to the bowl, leaning into his soothing touch as he gently massages your temples.
“Mhm. Carrots and potatoes and peas straight from the finest farm in the Dales” He winks at you. “That’s ours.”
You let out a weak giggle. “Home-planted and grown with love.”
He laughs, holding up a spoon of soup, holding his hand under your chin to avoid spillages. “Alrigh’. When your fever comes down maybe I’ll let you take the blanket back.” he mumbles, reaching out to test your temperature again. You sigh at the blissful feeling of his cool hands on your face.
“Thank you.” You mumble.
“Hm. Thank you. Bit more formal than ‘cheers’, innit. For what?” He jokes lightly.
“Lookin’ after me.”
“‘S my job, darlin’”
“No it int. I’m not one of your sheep.”
“You’re even more special.” He says calmly, eyes twinkling, and you melt into his arms.
“Can I have the blanket back now?”
“Not a chance, darlin’”