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Teddy’s eyes flicker open, adjusting to his surroundings. The armchair next to the bed, the bathroom door, the sun peeking through the window.
And the best part. Phil, lying beside him, hair messy on the pillow.
Teddy sighs happily. Living with Phil makes him so, so happy. Just seeing his face every morning adds some cement to the hole in his heart that was left when his father and mother kicked him out.
Phil opens his eyes as well, and Teddy immediately notices something off.
He’s paler than usual, and his lips are chapped. His eyebrows are scrunched.
“Are you okay, Phil?” Teddy raises an eyebrow in concern.
Phil groans. “I feel awful. Think I’m sick.” He sits up suddenly, coughing hard.
Teddy sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Gosh, you are sick.” He places the back of his palm on his boyfriend’s forehead. It’s burning up. “I think you have a fever, love.” Teddy says gently.
Phil flops back down onto the mattress. “Noooooooooooooooo.” He pouts. “I never get sick. It’s like, my thing.”
Teddy smiles at his boyfriend. “Well, you’ll have to find a new thing. Do you want some tea for your throat?”
Phil nods sadly.
Teddy gets up and goes to the kitchen, making Phil a cup of tea. Phil’s right, he never gets sick. Not once in the time that Teddy’s known him. And they’ve known each other a while.
Phil was there on Teddy’s first day of kindergarten, talking to him about aliens while Teddy cried silently the whole time.
He was there in the third grade, when Teddy broke his arm on the playground and he had to carry Teds to the ambulance.
He was there in the seventh grade, when Pennywise had kidnapped them both and left that scar on Teddy’s head and they almost-
No.
Teddy shakes the thought out of his head. Don’t think about the clown.
Once the tea is made, Teddy walks back into the room where Phil is asleep. Or at least lying down with his eyes shut tight.
“I have your tea, Malkin.”
Phil sits up with a goofy smile on his lips. “Malkin, huh? One day I’ll get to call you that.” His voice is slurred, like he’s been drinking.
Teddy bites his lip to hold back a smile. “You’re delirious. Drink your tea, okay?”
Phil shoots Teddy a wobbly thumbs up, before taking a sip of his tea.
Teddy flops into the armchair by the bed, watching Phil sip his tea.
“Mmm.” Phil hums. “Mon Teddy?”
Phil looks up. Sometimes when Phil’s really really tired, he’ll slip into French, the language he spoke growing up at home. Teddy knew some of it. “Yeah, Phil?”
“Je t'aime tellement. Je suis complètement hors de moi, mais je voulais que tu le saches.” Phil hums, voice raspy.
Teddy smiles to himself, heart warming. “I love you too, idiot.”