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"I told you that you should have worn a thicker coat yesterday, Oscar," George said, digging through the closet to find a hoodie for Oscar to wear.
Oscar was curled up on his side on the bed, watching George's back. He huffed, "It wasn't even that cold out." His voice sounded a bit nasally from the congestion, making his accent sound thicker.
"It's your first London winter, love. You're not used to this type of cold yet," George reminded, grabbing one of his oversized Mercedes hoodies, turning back to the bed. "Put this on."
Oscar made a face, "You just want to see me in Mercedes blue." Though despite his complaining, which was all teasing, he took the hoodie from George and threw it on over his head.
"Better than papaya."
"I'll make sure that I speak to, um, Zak about changing the color scheme."
"Good."
George crawled into bed next to Oscar, spooning him from the back. He pressed a kiss to Oscar's neck, right on a mole, feeling the feverish heat of the his skin.
"I'm going to get you sick, babe," Oscar mumbled, even as he leaned back into George's body.
"So be it then," he replied, lips ghosting over Oscar's skin. He wrapped his long arms around Oscar's waist to rest his hands on his lower abdomen. "It's winter break anyway, it's not like we're going out to the track this weekend."
"Yeah, um, I guess you're right."
The two men laid like that for awhile, the room quiet except for Oscar’s congested breathing. George traced small shapes through the hoodie, hoping it would bring some comfort to his boyfriend.
Oscar suddenly sat up, which made George sit up quickly after him. "What's wrong?"
"'m too hot," Oscar groaned, "but I'll just get cold again if I take the hoodie off."
George frowned, rubbing Oscar's forearm. "I don't have to hold you, love. I understand if the contact is too much."
Oscar shook his head, George catching a little pout on his lips, "No, I want you to." He reached down to take his socks off, letting them fall to the floor. He turned back to face George, pulling him to lay back down.
George chuckled softly, "What about getting me sick?" He wrapped his arms around Oscar's waist again. Oscar huffed, fingers curling into the fabric of George's sweater.
George kissed Oscar’s forehead, letting his lips linger there longer than necessary. "I know, I'm sorry, darling. I'll quit with the teasing." He pulled back, just enough to look at at flushed, feverish face of his boyfriend. He brushed the chestnut waves off Oscar's forehead. "I'm sorry you're not feeling good, dear. Do you need me to get you anything, or do you just want to stay here for a bit?"
Oscar shook his head, eyes fluttering open. "Uh not right now," he started, pausing to sniffle, "but could you make dinner later?"
"Of course, Oscar. I was already planning on it." George pulled him closer once again, a hand rubbing up and down Oscar's spine. "What were you thinking? Any specific requests?"
"Mmm, uh, no. You can surprise me."
"I can do that. How about you get some rest before dinner?"
Oscar hummed, his eyes shutting. He fell asleep rather quickly, the exhaustion from the sickness knocking him out. George continued to lay there, his eyes flicking from the rise and fall of Oscar's chest and then back to his sleeping face, cheek squished against the pillow.
George let his eyes drift shut, never truly falling asleep, staying vigilant of Oscar's breathing.
🐨🐶
After letting his eyes rest for about half an hour, and making sure Oscar was definitely sleeping, George slowly untangled himself from Oscar. The sleeping man subconsciously curled into himself at the loss of warmth from George's body.
George covered him up with a blanket, leaning down to press a kiss to Oscar's temple before slipping out of the bedroom, making his way down the hallway to the kitchen.
He settled on making pastina soup, because who doesn't want soup when its cold out and they're sick? It was some dish he had overheard Kimi talk about before, and it seemed like it would be perfect and exactly what Oscar needed. Italians and their miracle dishes.
Once all the ingredients were laid out and prepared, the actual cooking process didn't take that long, the whole process taking about 20 minutes. George cleaned up the mess as he went, not wanting to deal with it later. Turning the stove off and pulling the pot off the hot burner, George prepared two bowls of the soup.
Grabbing two spoons and the bowls, George made his way back to the bedroom where Oscar was still asleep.
He carefully set the bowls down on the bedside table, leaning down to kiss Oscar's temple again. "Oscar," he whispered, rubbing his thumb against Oscar's forearm. "Darling, dinner is ready."
Oscar exhaled deeply, starting to stir awake. He slowly rolled onto his back, letting his brown eyes open, focusing on George's face. "Hmmm?"
"Dinners done, love." George couldn't help but let his mind wander a little bit. His boyfriend looked so cute like this, cheeks flushed and his dark eyes adjusting to waking up. He gently cupped Oscar's cheek with his palm, a gentle smile on his face. "Did you have a good nap?"
Oscar nodded groggily, leaning into George's hand.
"Good, I'm glad. Now let's get you sat up to eat."
George adjusted the pillows, guiding Oscar into a sitting position. He grabbed one of the two bowls, placing it in his hands.
"Hopefully this will help with the congestion," George stated, grabbing his own bowl and sitting beside Oscar on the bed.
Before even taking a bite, Oscar looked over at George and leaned in, his lips brushing against George's cheek. "Thank you so much, babe, really."
George beamed, his blue eyes gazing into Oscar's dark ones. "You don't need to thank me, my love. Eat up, before you fall back asleep for another three hours."
🐨🐶
They ate in a comfortable silence, just enjoying each other's company. Once the bowls were emptied, George sat them aside. The two men curled up underneath the blankets, their bodies pulled close enough it seemed like they could merge into one. They needed this, to not care about lap times or media responsibilities, just each other.
"I love you, darling."
"I love you too, baby."