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You hated the winter.
It wasn’t That you hated the stuff most people did — you actually liked the snow, and watching it fall; the cold wasn’t too much of a pain once you were wrapped up warm; and it getting dark early was a good excuse for staying inside from mid-afternoon, going to bed early and waking up late on days off. You were more well-rested in the winter than you were at any other time of year.
No, you hated the winter because for some reason, every single cold-associated disease decided it was the perfect time to make a home in you, whether it be in your nose, or your stomach, or your chest. A cold, you could deal with. Stomach bugs came and went but you could still go about some of your day whilst being confined to your house until the symptoms went.
Your nemesis was the flu.
That motherfucker had you down for the count for a solid week and a half with no concept of where your limbs were, what time it was, or even whether you existed. It was absolute bullshit and you literally lost out on days whenever you had it.
Like right now. Right now, you had no idea what day it was, what time it was, when you last ate or drank something. You were stood in your kitchen, staring blankly into space, wrapped in a blanket from head to toe and just trying to stay upright. Honestly, you felt like you were just trying to exist.
At somepoint, he appeared beside you.
You didn’t know how he let himself into your house, but your boyfriend had an annoying habit of making himself at home even when he’d left his key on your coffee table. You’d stopped questioning it months back when you woke up to pee one night and he was lounging on your couch, eating your leftover takeout and watching a movie (only subtitles, no sound, but they were in French). You’d scolded him for essentially breaking and entering, and for eating your leftovers because you’d been plannign to have the food for lunch the next day, but in the end he’d finished eating and climbed into bed with you for a cuddle. Right now, you were so out of it that you didn’t really care that he was standing right in front of you in your kitchen.
You didn’t even notice that he was holding you until you realised your cheek was resting on the palm of his hand, and your eyes slipped closed.
“…cook…”
He was talking now. You could hear his voice. Your eyes fluttered open to look at him, still feeling out of it. You felt a bit lightheaded now, actually.
His lips were moving.
“Huh…?” you mumbled, trying to focus on his lips to see what he was saying.
He was frowning at you. “When did you last eat?”
Your own brows furrowed as you tried to remember the last time you’d actually eaten. You barely got out of bed to hydrate and use the toilet, let alone eat. When had you last eaten? You couldn’t even remember the last dish you’d eaten, never mind when you’d had it.
His frown only deepened, and then he was leaning over to press his lips to your forehead. Whether it was to show affection or some weird way of checking your temperature, you weren’t sure, but he looked almost alarmed when he pulled away.
“You need rest and some Day Nurse,” he said, wrapping your blankets around you tighter. All you gave in response was a small whimper.
You felt pathetic.
“Let me cook for you.” He slowly began to move you out of the kitchen, guiding you over to the couch. He said more things, you were sure of it, but you weren’t reading his lips so everything went in one ear and out the other. Next thing you knew, you were lying down on the couch, wrapped in one blanket and another draped over you.
You didn’t know how much time you lost. You were pretty much in and out of it for… you didn’t know how long. Even if you’d had the energy to look out of the window, you weren’t sure whether you’d be able to tell what time of day it was — especially not because it was the winter. You couldn’t even remember whether you’d called in sick for a decent amount of time — you were meant to check in with work every day, but you couldn’t remember when you last did that. Was it a couple of days ago? A week ago? A few hours ago? What was time?
And then, suddenly, you opened your eyes to see there was a bowl in front of you, on the coffee table. There was steam rising from it. You could smell the gentle spices that signified a good, hearty broth, and your stomach didn’t turn.
It smelled wonderful.
Slowly pushing yourself up to sitting, you unravelled your arms from the blanket and freed them, carefully reaching out to pick up the bowl and look into it.
It was chicken broth. With vegetables, chicken pieces, and noodles. And it made your stomach growl with hunger.
When was the last time you ate.
“You’re awake.”
You looked towards the entrance to the kitchen to see that Alex was standing there, a cup in his hands. It looked like a cup of tea. He was smiling a little.
“Welcome back to the land of the living.”
“Thanks.” Your voice was rough and barely a whisper. You couldn’t remember the last time you were awake to speak. Your hand felt weak as you picked up the spoon that had been left next to your broth, and you carefully took a spoonful.
Oh that was so good.
A few moments later, a cup of tea was placed on the coffee table, and then Alex was sitting down next to you, with his own cup of tea in his hands. You leaned against him as you ate.
“Thank you,” you murmured, quietly eating your food. You felt his lips on the top of your head as he kissed you.
“Just eat and focus on getting better,” he said softly, and you hummed softly.
Getting better was going to be so much easier with someone around to take care of you.