you’re sick and call ben for comfort
it’s late, the kind of late where the world feels hazy and too quiet, and you’re curled up on the couch with a fever that refuses to break. your whole body aches, your throat raw, and the silence of your apartment makes it worse. you’ve tried tea, medicine, a blanket piled high, but nothing helps.
finally, you reach for your phone, your hands trembling a little as you scroll to ben’s name.
he picks up after only one ring, his voice groggy but instantly concerned. “hey, baby. what’s wrong?”
you sniffle, your throat catching. “i… i feel awful. i didn’t wanna bother you, but—can i come over?”
there’s no hesitation. “of course. i’ll stay awake. just drive safe, yeah?”
the relief in your chest is instant. “thank you. i’ll be there soon.”
the drive feels longer than usual, headlights smearing through the rain-slick streets, but when you finally pull into his driveway, the porch light is already on. ben is waiting at the door, hoodie pulled tight, hair messy from sleep.
“come here,” he murmurs the moment you step inside, gently tugging the overnight bag from your hand. “you look miserable, baby.”
“feel worse than i look,” you croak, and he gives you a soft, sympathetic smile.
he leads you straight to his room, tucking you into his bed like you’re fragile. within minutes, he’s piling extra blankets on you, fussing like he always does. “you’re freezing. should’ve called me hours ago.”
you manage a weak smile. “didn’t wanna bother you.”
his brow furrows, and he sits down on the edge of the bed, brushing damp hair off your forehead. “you could never bother me. not when you need me.”
his words make your chest ache in a different way, softer, fuller.
he climbs in beside you, pulling you gently into his chest, his warmth wrapping around you. you sigh into him, melting under the steady beat of his heart.
“better?” he asks quietly.
“mm. yeah,” you whisper, voice fading.
for a while, you just lie there, the rhythm of his breathing slowing yours, grounding you. and then—his voice, low and soothing, starts to hum.
you recognize the melody, one of his softer songs, though he never sings it for anyone but you. his voice is rough from sleep but gentle, wrapping around you like another blanket.
your eyes grow heavier with every note. you murmur, barely awake, “you’re not allowed to stop.”
he chuckles softly against your hair. “i won’t. promise.”
and true to his word, he keeps singing—quiet, steady—until your body goes limp in his arms and your breathing evens out.
his hand rubs soothing circles into your back as he presses a kiss to your temple.
“sleep, baby,” he whispers into the dark. “i’ve got you.”
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