You heard him outside of the apartment before he even reached the door. His loud, wet coughing echoed off the walls and made you wince at the sound. Quickly you opened the door, pulling him quickly out of the rain. You paused momentarily after pulling off his jacket. He looked terrible. His skin was pale and tired, an expression of exhaustion etched into his features.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, brushing the raindrops from his bangs. “Are you alright?” He sighed and shook his head, explaining in a voice marked harshly by illness.

“I feel really terrible about this…Can I stay in your spare room for a while?” He paused to cough, cringing at the pain in his throat. “I can’t get the other members sick…I promise I won’t be a bother and I’ll stay away so you won’t get sick too?” He stopped speaking abruptly when you pulled him farther into your apartment, helping him sit down slowly on your couch.

“Of course you can stay here. You don’t have to ask.” A few moments of silence passed as you shuffled rapidly about him, checking his temperature and collecting medicine from various cabinets. He sighed loudly when you presented two small pills and a spoonful of cough syrup in front of him. “Take this.”

“I don’t want to!” he whined, always reluctant to admit when he needed medication. “I’ll be fine like this.” You sighed louder than he had, setting the medicine on the coffee table in front of him. Suddenly faced with an idea, you disappeared once again into the kitchen. When you returned, his eyes were greeted by a soft piece of coffee cake sitting on a china plate.

“You can have this. But only if you take the medicine.” You didn’t need to tell him twice. Within seconds the pills were gone, and the cake followed soon after. Chuckling softly, you sat down next to him. It was amusing to you how childlike he could be when he wasn’t feeling well. You began to slowly trace patterns on his back as he lay near you on the couch, humming softly to the music in your head. Your boyfriend’s eyes drooped heavily, drowsiness overwhelming his already exhausted form.

You insisted he sleep on your bed, afraid the drafty guest room would only amplify the symptoms of his illness. He protested once again, afraid of passing the aliment to someone else, the very act he was trying to avoid by staying with you. The persistence in your voice didn’t so much as falter.

“You stayed with me when I was sick,” the convincing persistence clear in your voice. You lay nearby, listening as the rapid coughs became slowly less frequent. As the medication kicked in, he fell into a pattern of rhythmic breathing, fast asleep. Slumber graced you as well for a short while, before the coughing began once again. Even in his sleep the wheezing shook through his body, and you stood up quietly to locate more medication. As you shuffled in the kitchen, a shaky and weary voice called out to you.

“Babe?” He sounded weak and concerned, his illness bringing forth the childlike persona within. When you returned to the bedroom, you raised a palm to his sweltering forehead. The fever had returned, and his face had a sunken pallor. Once again, you were taken aback by his helplessness. Bringing a cold cloth gently to his forehead you carefully patted his features. Handing him more medicine, you his cheek lightly with worry on your face. He smiled weakly.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for taking care of me.” You smiled back, pulling the covers back over the both of you.

“Of course,” you whispered. “Now sleep.” He chuckled slightly, wrapping an arm about you and returning to sleep.