Damp washcloth in hand, A hurries over to B's bedside. They kneel down and gently wipe the sweat from B's brow, hoping the cool cloth might help bring down their fever that just won't seem to break - or at the very least, give them some comfort.
"hhh…hhiih…hhhiHH'IDJSSSHH'hhuu!"
"Bless you, baby," A coos, dabbing B's now-dripping nose with the washcloth.
"'m sorry," B mumbles, sounding like they're on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
"Hey, hey, it's okay." A caresses B's cheek, their thumb tracing beneath their eye and catching a tear before it can fall.
"I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" B continues through heaving breaths.
A's stomach sinks, and they bite their trembling lip.
"You're breaking my heart, sweetie," A sighs, moving their hand to brush through their beloved's hair. "Instead of 'sorry,' how about you try 'thank you?' Or maybe 'I love you?'"
"Mmm." B makes a sound that's indecipherable as they reach out, grasping at A's shirt. A slides under the blankets with them, holding their poor, sick sweetheart close to their chest, feeling them relax just a little in the embrace.
"Thank you," B whines into the fabric of A's shirt. "I love you," they hiccup between sobs. "I love you, I love you…"




















