Nichkhun watched you sleep as your body waged against a stubborn fever. He smiled slightly to himself, knowing that you were even more stubborn than the virus. His fingertips brushed away the strands of hair plastered to your forehead as he placed a cool rag to your burning skin. Mumbled protests tumble from your lips, telling him to look away from your not-so-perfect visage. He chuckles and shakes his head, insisting that you are beautiful to him no matter what. He punctuates his statement with a gentle kiss to your temple.