boyfriend!harrison cooking for you and taking care of you while you’re sick
“Harrison,” you whined out, brows furrowed as you clutched your head, hoping it would somehow ease the pain that drilled into your temples.
Harrison stood by the stove, barely ten foot away from you but you felt as though you were miles apart. Your skin was burning, flames so high it nearly blinded you, but you couldn’t stop the shivering, the coldness that seeped through your bones.
“Nearly ready, babe. How’s your head?” he asked over his shoulder, scooping up copious amounts of broccoli and cauliflower that he quickly dished onto a plate.
You groaned and his question and fell back into the couch, back of your head cushioned by the unreasonable amounts of pillows Harrison had supplied you with.
“My head’s fine. But I’m cold and you’re always warm. I don’t care about the pie, just come care for your dying girlfriend,” you cried out.
Harrison scoffed out a laugh and shook his head at your dramatic self. “You’re not dying, love,” he quipped playfully, piling the dishes in the sink and grabbing your plates of food.
“Here you go, babe,” Harrison spoke softly, setting the two plates down on the coffee table, lifting your legs from the couch and sitting down, pulling your legs back into his lap.
“Just eat a few mouthfuls, please?” he pouted at you, fingers gently rubbing your ankles and you sighed out a huff.
You threw your arm over your head, other one draping off the sofa. You peered at him from under your arm, sighing again when you saw him still pouting at you.
“Please? It’ll make me feel better knowing you’ve had at least something,” he near begged, bottom lip still jutted out as he squeezed your leg softly.
With a huff and a roll of your eyes, you gave in; sitting up on the couch and grabbing the plate, setting it on your lap.
Haz watched you for a few moments as you flicked the broccoli around your plate with the fork, how you grimaced at the sight of your usual favourite chicken pie.
“Haz, I don’t wanna,” you whined a little, shaking your head and pouting at your caring boyfriend. Harrison sighed and shook his head, standing from the sofa with his hands on your hips.
“Y/N, if you don’t eat, you’re not going to get better,” he spoke, voice assertive and it made you cower just a little. You knew he was right, but you just couldn’t do it.
“Yes, but I’m not hungry, Haz. I feel too sick to eat,” you argued back, food long forgotten on the coffee table as you now faced him with a frown.
Harrison gave you a look. “You feel sick because you haven’t eaten.”
You pouted and looked back at the food, stomach groaning and you knew he was right. You looked back up to him.
“Can we put on a film and cuddle? I promise I’ll eat it then because I won’t be thinking about it,” you suggested, eyes wide and hopeful and Haz squinted at you for a moment.
“Hmmm. Fine,” he gave in, turning off the lights and grabbing the remote.
Harrison sat back on the sofa, arm open for you to coddle into his side and bring your plates to sit in your laps.
As he put on a movie, he kissed your forehead, noting how your temperature had gone down dramatically since the last time he’d checked.
Eventually, you began to pick at your food, nibbling on the pastry of the pie and the little pieces of the chicken.
By the time the movie was over, your plate was almost empty and you were fast asleep on his shoulder, curled into his side and he smile at you.
“Just want you to get better, love. That’s all,” he whispered, manouvering you both so you lay side by side on the couch, your legs in his and head on his chest.
Harrison gave your forehead a sweet kiss before her switched off the tv and you were both swarmed by darkness, love, and sleep.
