“Please keep your sick away from me and get better soon. I made you soup.”
Ceydran stared languidly at the bowl in front of him, unable to stomach putting anything into his mouth with how his stomach churned. He looked up at Noah apologetically. “I’m sorry dove, thank you for making this, but I couldn’t eat if I was force fed at this point.” Noah, looking worried, nodded and placed the bowl away on the table.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, sitting on the edge of Ceydran’s bed. Ceydran just stared at him, eyes red rimmed with exhaustion. His head was hazy with a headache, and he shivered periodically with fever.
“I’m cold,” he mumbled, shifting under his pile of blankets.
“You already have almost every blanket on the train, what do you want me to do?” Noah asked, exasperated. Ceydran let his hand fall weakly into his lap.
“C’mere,” he whispered hoarsely, and Noah shook his head, standing up.
“Oh no, I may be your boyfriend but I am not getting sick for you.” Ceydran looked up at him mournfully, face framed by pillows and a sweaty mess of curly black hair. Noah shook his head again, this time fondly. “God, you look pathetic. Fine, you’re lucky you’re cute.” He pulled the covers back and slid next to Ceydran, wrapping an arm around him. “No way you’re cold, you’re burning up!” Ceydran just raised an eyebrow at him before falling back into a feverish doze. Noah huffed out a laugh and pushed Ceydran’s hair out of his face. “If I wake up tomorrow with a headache, I’m blaming you,” he muttered softly, planting a small kiss on Ceydran’s forehead.