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Harry isn’t feeling well.
It’s actually the first time that he’s thinking about just laying in bed to get better. Sirius has been trying to drill into his head for ages that he should take care of himself and rest when he’s sick, but he’s always been a bit … resistant. Always claiming that he’s not really sick or he’s been through worse things before and managed to make it through classes or work without laying around for the day.
Part of it comes from growing up with the Dursleys, even though it’s been a decade since he last lived with them.
Still, Sirius is way too cheerful about his husband being sick when he waltzes into their room with soup.
“You’re a terrible husband,” Harry groans as he sits up.
“Would a terrible husband spend the day taking care of you?” Sirius questions as he sits on the of the bed with the tray of soup and juice placed on Harry’s lap (well, floating on Harry’s lap).
“He would be gleeful about it,” Harry states before coughing. “You’re way too happy I’m sick.”
“I’m not happy you’re sick, love, I’m happy I get to take care of you.”
Harry hums as he begins to eat his soup. It’s his favorite kind of soup because of course it is. Sirius is nothing if not one of the most attentive husbands Harry’s ever known (to be fair, he’s only had the one husband, but he knows Sirius is pretty great).
“Good soup?”
Harry hums, again, as he puts it to the side. “And maybe a good husband, too.”
Sirius grins. “Well, I think I have the best husband.”
“You do,” Harry agrees causing Sirius burst out laughing.
He leans forward to kiss Harry, but Harry stops him. “I need you to not kiss me because you’re going to get sick and then we’ll keep passing it back and forth.”
Sirius pouts as if he’s some kid being denied a treat. Giving though puppy dog eyes that he knows gets Harry to melt.
“Fine, nose kisses – no lips.”
Sirius brightens and moves forward to rub his nose against Harry’s nose. It feels silly and a bit weird being sick, but he enjoys it, and Sirius is smiling at him.
Harry laughs when Sirius finally pulls away, taking a second to kiss his forehead.
“How’re you feeling?”
“A little better. Still tired.”
Sirius banishes the bowl and tray, leaving the juice on the bedside table. “I’ll leave you to rest.”
“Thank you,” Harry says as he lays back down.
Sirius stands and kisses his forehead. “Feel better. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”