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Grayson Hawthorne was not the type to get sick. At least, that’s what he told himself. He prided himself on being composed, responsible, and in control — none of which applied when he was currently curled up on his couch, wrapped in a thick blanket, feeling absolutely miserable.
You stood in the doorway of his penthouse, arms crossed, watching as he tried (and failed) to pretend he was fine. His usually sharp eyes were glassy with fever, his perfectly styled hair was a mess, and there was a half-drunk cup of tea sitting on the coffee table next to a pile of tissues.
“You look awful,” you teased, setting down the bag of groceries you brought.
Grayson let out a weak scoff. “Charming as ever.” His voice was hoarse and he barely managed to lift his head before flopping back against the couch.
You shook your head, walking over to him. “You didn’t even tell me you were sick. I had to hear it from Xander.”
Grayson groaned. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
You rolled your eyes, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. He was burning up. “You’re not a bother, Grayson. You’re my boyfriend.”
You pressed a kiss to his forehead—he sighed, closing his eyes at the warmth. Then you pulled away, much to his disappointment.
“Alright, I’m making you soup,” you announced and headed toward the kitchen.
“You don’t have to do that,” he rasped, though he made no effort to move.
“Too bad,” you called back. “I already bought everything. Sit there and look pretty.”
Grayson let out a breathy chuckle, but it turned into a cough. You were at his side instantly, rubbing his back until it passed. He looked at you with gratitude, and something else — something softer.
“You take such good care of me,” he mumbled, his voice quieter now.
You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “Someone has to. You’re the worst sick person ever.”
“I am not,” he protested weakly.
You smirked. “Really? Because I think Xander mentioned you almost passed out in the shower this morning.”
Grayson scowled. “I was fine.”
You gave him a knowing look. “Grayson.”
“…Okay, maybe I was slightly dizzy,” he admitted reluctantly.
“Exactly,” you said, brushing your fingers through his hair again. “So let me take care of you, alright?”
Grayson exhaled, his body finally relaxing as he leaned into your touch. “Alright.”
And for once, he let himself be taken care of.