Idea: Reader is sick and Rory does what he can to make reader feel better. Hope you enjoy feel free to share. 💜
Word count: 1000ish
No warnings
This Gif is my favorite 😍
Rory tip-toes down the corridor, careful not to make the wooden floors creak as he walks toward the bedroom to check on you. He was surprised you'd slept as long as you have, this flu was kicking your ass, and he hated he couldn't make it go away. He knows how much you hate being sick and how it makes you feel weak and miserable, and he wishes he could do something to cheer you up or at least relieve the pain.
Rory gently pushes the cracked door open and peaks his head through the opening. Sympathetic blue eyes land on you, and he feels helpless when he sees you curled in a ball with blankets pulled over your body, your hair spread across the pillows, and your mouth slightly hung open from being unable to breathe through your nose. He can hear your raspy breathing and the occasional sniffle and wonders if you have a fever.
The room feels warm and stuffy, and Rory finds it hard to breathe in there. He quietly walks over to the window, cracking it open just enough to get a nice breeze but not enough to make you cold. He hopes the fresh air will help you feel better or at least clear your sinuses a bit.
He looks around the room, noticing the tissues scattered on the nightstand, the empty glass of water, and the medicine bottle. He decides to get you some more water and clean up the tissues making sure not to touch the dirty parts. He smiles softly as he sees your favorite stuffed animal tucked under your arm, a gift from him on your last birthday.
He sits beside you, brushing the strands of hair off of your face. Rory rests his palm on your forehead to gauge if you are getting better or worse. He feels a slight warmth on your skin, but not as hot as before. He sighs in relief, hoping that means you're recovering. He leans down and kisses your cheek gently, whispering, "Hey, sweetheart, how are you feeling?"
You stir at his touch, feeling nauseous as you open your eyes. You see his concerned face hovering over you, and you try to smile weakly.
You croak out "Hi." in a hoarse voice, feeling a dryness in your throat. You reach for the glass of water, but Rory beats you to it and helps lift your head slightly to sip some water, careful not to spill it on the bed. You thank him with a grateful look, feeling a bit more refreshed. You ask him, “How long have I been asleep?”
“Somewhere around 12 hours. I kept checking on you to make sure you were still breathing.” He teases. “I had to send Doctor Peach in a few times.” He says, referring to his cat. “She said you’re gonna be ok.”
You weakly smile, closing your eyes. “Doctor Peach knows everything. I trust her judgment.”
He chuckles, stroking your hair. “Yeah, she’s a very smart cat. She also said you need to take your medicine, eat some soup, and watch some Netflix with me.”
You open your eyes again, looking at him suspiciously. “I don’t believe you?”
He nods solemnly, trying to keep a straight face. “She did. She even wrote it down for me.” He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket with a scribbled note saying, “Doctor Peach’s prescription: medicine, soup, Netflix -Meow.”
You laugh, despite the pain in your chest. He smiles, happy to see you in a better mood.
He leans down and kisses your nose gently. “See? Doctor Peach is always right.”
"I doubt you want to sit in this room with me, and I don't want to get you sick."
Rory shrugs as he makes his way to the other side of the bed and crawls under the blankets. "It's ok, I'll be ok." He confidently says.
You can't tell if he's trying to convince you or himself. He scoots closer to you and opens his arms, signaling for you to come closer to him, but you're hesitant. "You're going to be so mad when you get sick." You snuggle into his side, allowing him to hold you. Your body relaxes under his touch.
"I'm not worried. Peach can handle it." He jokes, pointing to the cat on the edge of the mattress. You laugh weakly, too tired from the flu to argue.
"Can you put on a movie? I can’t handle this anymore." You say.
Rory does as he’s told and throws the Simpsons on. He strokes your arm and whispers sweet nothings in your ear, feeling lucky to have him by your side.
He kisses your hair gently, whispering, “I love you.”
"You won't when you're sick." You joke. “Trust me. I hate whoever gave me this like if I knew who it was, I’d show up at their house and kick the front door in.” You laugh. “It’s bullshit.”
“I can handle my own.” He reminds you. “Besides, when was the last time I got sick?”
You roll your eyes. “Last week, when you ate expired yogurt and spent the whole night in the bathroom.” You remind him.
He groans and covers his face with his hand. “Don’t bring that up. That was a nightmare.” He says.
You giggle. “Well, at least you have a good immune system.”
“A good immune system, a good life, a good girlfriend. I’m living most people’s dream.” He sweetly speaks. “Don’t you dare try to say something bad about yourself.” He says, reading your mind. “I’m not having it.”
Your body tense, “I wasn’t.” You lie. “I’m perfect. Even with snot dripping out of my nose.”
He smiles and pulls you closer to him. “Exactly, You’re perfect. Even with snot dripping out of your nose.”
You blush and feel a wave of warmth in your chest. “You’re too good to me.”
“You’re worth every second of it, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep proving it to you.”
