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Trevor was never usually one to let people take care of him, but when his head felt like it was stuck in a clamp and anything above a whisper sent him into a coughing fit, it was hard to do much else other than lay on the couch feeling sorry for himself.
Michael, on the other hand, was loving it — the bastard. Sure, he’d been doing a good job of looking after Trevor, but that definitely didn’t mean he hadn’t taken great pleasure in making lighthearted jokes at Trevor’s expense.
“Jesus, you’re still not up? And you call me the lazy one,” chirped Michael, dropping a bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. He’d taken advantage of Trevor’s condition and cleaned the whole trailer while he wasn’t well enough to sustain the filthiness, so it only smelled mildly mouldy, rather than the usual stench of decay.
“Shut the fuck up, Porkchop,” Trevor retaliated. A pathetic croak was the most he could muster, and Michael chuckled a little, but his face softened.
“Ah, I’m just fucking with ya. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit, how else?” Trevor coughed to prove his point. “I mean, how the fuck am I hot and cold at the same time? It’s bullshit.”
“You have the flu, T, that’s how it works. And with my luck, I’m gonna catch it off you.”
“Hm. Your fault for sticking around so long,” Trevor said with a smirk. It was taking a lot out of him to keep up his snarky attitude, but he did it anyway. “Amanda been sniffing around yet?”
“Nah, she thinks I’m on movie duty for Soloman, which means I have the pleasure of looking after your sorry ass for now.” Michael slumped down on the sofa next to Trevor, curled up in his bundle of blankets.
“What, no proper greeting, Sugartits?” complained Trevor, putting on a whiny voice.
“God, you’re even more insufferable when you’re sick,” said Michael, earning a half-hearted kick from a heavily blanketed foot, but nevertheless, he leaned over and planted a kiss on Trevor’s forehead, petting his hair fondly. Trevor pressed his face into Michael’s hand, smiling slightly.
“Jesus, Trev, you’re burning up.” Michael stood up and started rummaging through the bag on the counter.
“‘M fine, Mikey,” Trevor mumbled into the blanket, his shaky breathing and the sweat beading on his forehead betraying his protests. Michael just tutted, pulling a bottle of Tylenol from the bag and filling up one of the newly cleaned glasses with water.
“You are so fucking stubborn, you know that?”
“‘Course I do, Sugar,” replied Trevor, attempting to put on a gruff, mock-seductive voice, but instead sending himself into a coughing fit. He scowled at Michael, who was wearing his ‘I told you so’ face, but didn’t resist when he helped him sit up to take the pills, gentle hands on his shoulder and back, oh-so-careful. He grimaced as the pills went down, but the cold water was a relief to his throat, burning and raw from coughing.
“Fuck me, I’m tired.” Trevor had been dozing all day, but was never quite able to slip into a proper sleep, and he knew the lack of rest wasn’t doing his body any favours. “I can’t stay on this lumpy fucking sofa anymore.” He threw the blanket to the side and launched himself into a standing position - a mistake, he quickly realised, as his vision swam, clouding over, and everything began spinning. He stumbled, the floor fast approaching, but he felt the same careful hands grasp him, preventing him from injuring himself as he fell. He must have passed out for a second, because when he opened his eyes, he was staring up at the ceiling. Michael looked down at him, worry filling his expression as he cradled Trevor, one hand stroking his cheek.
“Hey. Hey, you alright, T?” Trevor simply replied with a noise of confirmation, grogginess and nausea preventing him from forming coherent words, but Michael seemed relieved. “Fuck, Trev, you scared the shit out of me, you asshole.”
A weak chuckle from Trevor.
“Can you stand?”
He nodded, and, with some effort, Michael pulled him to his feet, arm around his waist, steadying him, should his knees buckle again. Together, they made their way to the bedroom, where Trevor resumed his fetal position, one arm over his face, willing the world to stop spinning. Michael draped the duvet over him, and Trevor internally admitted to himself that it was a lot more comforting when the sheets weren’t covered in various stains and odours. Michael gave him a fond look that, were he not feverish, dizzy, and lacking the energy required, Trevor would have teased him for. Michael bent over, kissing Trevor’s chapped lips, before flicking the light switch off and reaching for the door handle, but Trevor’s quiet voice breaking through the silence stopped him in his tracks.
“Mikey? Can you…” Even sick, he was embarrassed to ask Michael to stay with him. Perhaps he’d take pity on him, and save his ‘oh, you like me? What, you have a crush or something?’ for when Trevor had recovered a bit.
To his relief, all Michael did was chuckle a little and turn back to Trevor, a caring smile painted on his face.
“You want me to stay, T?
“Mm,” Trevor mumbled in affirmation, already half-asleep. Michael slipped off his jacket and jeans, sinking into bed next to him, and Trevor rolled onto his side and draped an arm over Michael’s chest, something that had never failed to comfort and ground him. He didn’t usually like physical touch - sure, he’d been in more fights than he could count, but intimacy like this had always scared him - however, with Michael, it was different. He was the one person Trevor felt utterly safe with.
The sound of Michael’s breathing and the rise and fall of his chest soothed Trevor’s spinning head, and the familiar scent of expensive cologne smelled like home to him. He felt Michael’s hand petting his hair again, and Michael let out a small outtake of breath from his nose.
“You gotta take a shower, Trev. Your hair feels like a fuckin’ birds’ nest.”
Trevor grumbled a small “fuck you too, Sugar,” into Michael’s chest, eyes still closed.
Neither of them spoke any more after that, and the repetitive motion of Michael’s hand in his head soon sent him into a deep, dreamless sleep.