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The single worst part of the winter? Getting sick. Easily, by a country mile. Though, it had at least gotten slightly less bad since you’d started dating a doctor. Marginally. But you seemed to get sick every winter, without fail, regardless of what you did to try to prevent it. With your doctor boyfriend’s advice!
There you were again, though. In bed, sick, while the rest of the crew partied out on deck. You didn’t begrudge them their fun - just because you were miserable didn’t mean they had to be - but it did still majorly suck ass that you were stuck in bed while they were having fun. None of them were sick, it was like some sort of cruel joke told by God.
At some point you must’ve fallen asleep despite the sound of festivities, because next you knew it was dark, and you were being woken by your door being opened. You glanced over, eyes still bleary, mind foggy with lingering grogginess.
“Hongo?” You asked in a rasp, voice impacted by your constant coughing.
“Hey, sweets. Just coming to check on you.” He replied softly, stumbling slightly as he crossed your room. He was obviously tipsy from the partying, but you knew Hongo well enough to know that he’d never get truly drunk while someone was sick. Especially not you. You lifted your hand to stop him coming closer, looking away to cough into the crook of your elbow.
“I know that look. You can’t get in bed with me while I’m sick, Hongo.” You scolded him with a frown, lifting your blanket up over your face so you wouldn’t get him sick.
“It’s fine. I’m a doctor.” He replied, gently gripping your wrist to move your hand that was blocking him.
“Exactly. So you can’t get sick.”
“I won’t get sick, I’m a doctor.”
“That is not how that works.” You argued with a laugh, even as your resolve crumbled. When he looked at you like that, you couldn’t deny him a single thing. He was always so sweet when he was tipsy. You rolled your eyes and pulled back the blankets to let him in, but turned to face away from him. Hongo wouldn’t complain about that. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and pressed his face into the back of your neck.
“That’s much better. How am I meant to sleep without you, hm?” He mumbled into your skin, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. You hummed, pleased with the contact despite your protests. You always slept better with him beside you too.
“Love you, Hongo.” You murmured as sleep clawed at you again, dragging your heavy, aching body into slumber.
“Love you too, sweets.”
So, after that, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when just a day or so after you recovered, Hongo shuffled into the kitchen looking like death warmed over.
“Hongo..” You murmured, lips pursed as you attempted not to laugh. You had tried to warn him.
“Don’t. Not a word. I’m getting juice and then I’m going back to bed.” He grumbled, promptly sneezing into his hands.
“You’re not touching anything in here. Get back to bed, I’ll bring you juice.” He nodded without protest, a sign that he truly was quite sick, and walked away.
“Fool.” You muttered with a sigh, rolling your eyes with a fond smile. Truly, what a hopeless man your lover was. Not that he was a bad doctor, no, he was just a little too gone on you to consider the consequences of his actions half the time.