As you woke that morning, the haze of sleep seemed to linger longer than usual. Your eyes blinked away your dreams, your chest filling with air, but as you turned your head to reach for the phone and shut of the alarm that was finally piercing through the heavy weight of sleep, fire seemed to consume your head. Instead of the phone, your hands found your temples, your fingers slipping between locks of your hair as you grasped at your throbbing head. “Whyyyy,” you groaned, your features scrunching up as if you might be able to squeeze the pain and fullness out of your sinuses. It didn't take long to realize they were the source of your discomfort. Your head swam, your face ached, your nose felt as if it must have grown to three times its usual size in the night. Finally you were able to slap your hand to your phone and drag it to your side to turn off the alarm.

You could scarcely remember why you'd set an alarm at all, aside from that stupid challenge you'd given yourself to maintain a regular sleep schedule. Either way, all thoughts of lifting your body from the bed quickly faded as you realized that the ache went so much deeper than your sinuses. Your arms, your back, your hips – every inch of you seemed to throb with that weighted feeling that accompanied illness, and you had no intention of forcing yourself out of the warm hint of comfort that was your bed. Instead, you pulled the covers up over your shoulders, wrapping yourself in a rather burrito-like fashion until you were little more than a cocoon of blankets beneath a head of dishevelled hair. You only realized that the tissues were still on the bookshelf across the room after you were settled, and there was no way you would have moved at that point, no matter how you would regret it later.

Sleep never quite claimed you again, not with the way your sinuses throbbed and every sound and light seemed to prick at your senses ten times more strongly than it typically would. Still, you were mostly asleep an hour later, and dazed enough not to hear a key opening your front door. Instead, it was the call of your boyfriend's voice that dragged you, once more, from your almost-sleeping state.

“Baaabyyy?” Jay's trademark whine pierced the quiet of your apartment, singing to your heart, but also drilling into your head. You groaned in response, pulling the blankets closer to your face as you attempted to cling to every bit of warmth you could gather from them. “Babyyyy, you were supposed to meet me twenty minutes ago for breakfast. Baby? Where aarreeee you?”

Your ears followed Jay from the entry to the hall, into the bathroom where he probably assumed you were getting ready. A sigh escaped your lips before you finally found a shadow of your voice. “In the bedroom,” you croaked, wincing at the rough tone of your own voice.

“Bedroom?” You could practically hear the frown on Jay's face, and, sure enough, as he leaned sideways, holding the door frame, his lips were formed into the most precious pout you'd ever seen. “Baby girl, why are you still in bed? Didn't you set an alarm?” Taking a step forward, he crossed into your sanctuary, crossing his arms over his toned, tattooed chest. He looked so enticing in the soft, cream sweater he wore to stave off the cool spring morning, little stars and hints of that beautiful lion peeking out from the collar. His hair had been left in the soft waves that so beautifully framed his features, just the way he knew you liked it, and the rays of the sun seemed to caress his face, only serving to highlight that cursed pout. “Don't tell me you turned it off?” his frown deepened as he spotted the phone at your side.

“I tried, honey, but I don't feel good,” you defended yourself, making your best effort to form that rounded, doe-eyed look of innocence that always seemed to get you your way. Pain shot through your temples at the motion, though, and soon you were squeezing your eyes shut instead.

The last thing you expected to hear in response was the scoff that fell from Jay's lips. “You have a headache?” Even in your sluggish state, there was no missing the hint of hurt that lingered in his voice. “You told me you were too tired to go out, but you went out with the girls, didn't you?!” He pouted , jumping onto the bed. You groaned in protest at the way his weight caused the mattress – and your body – to bounce, and Jay scooted closer, jabbing an accusatory finger to your chest. “Well you're not getting out of breakfast for a hangover, babe,” he continued until your eyes snapped open.

“Jaebeom, ” you glowered before letting your eyes close again, “stop it. I didn't go out with anyone, and it's not a hangover,” you grumbled. You were ready to retreat under the blankets again, but his fingers caught the edge of the comforter and delicately dragged the material away from your chin. “Jay, please, I really don't feel -”

Your protest was cut off by a hand brushing your hair back from your forehead, the frown on your boyfriend's face altered in the smallest but most meaningful fashion. “Wow babe, you really look like ,” he hummed.

If your head hadn't been pounding, you might have grabbed a pillow to smack him over the face, but you just didn't have the energy. Instead, you weakly kicked at his shins from your cocoon of blankets as you narrowed your gaze in his direction. “Thanks, Jay, I really needed you to point that out,” you muttered, fighting his grasp on the blankets.

“No, baby, I'm sorry,” he fussed, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead. “Tell me what I can do to make it better,” he whined, and you knew he felt remorseful for his earlier accusations. His hands felt so good as they smoothed your hair and fell to rub soothing circles on your back. A part of you really wanted him to stay right where he was, but your sinuses had other ideas.

“If you really want to be nice, you'll bring me the tissue box from across the room.” You looked up at him through your lashes, and Jay quickly hopped to a sitting position, bouncing the bed again as he moved to his feet.

“Sorry,” he shrugged, quickly grabbing the tissues and bringing them to your side. You slowly turned back toward the nightstand, and Jay was placing your phone back onto the wooden fixture. “What else can I do, sweetie?”

He looked so innocent squatting at the side of your bed, so eager to do anything he could to make you feel better. You might have kissed him if you felt like you could move more than you already had. You reached out, squeezing his hand before you took a tissue from the box. “Cold medicine from the cabinet?” you pleaded quietly, and with a nod Jay was up and moving to the bathroom.

Once he'd left the medicine at your side, you had assumed Jay would go make himself some toast and occupy himself with video games. You were grateful to know he was there in the house as you settled