“Y-You…You came…”/“You called.”
Pairings: CollegeNerd!Miguel O’Hara x Popular!AFAB!Black! OC
Content Warnings: vomiting, extreme sickness, extreme fatigue, Miguel sees Bee naked for the first time (sorta), Bee’s house is DIRTY, eating disorders and malnourishment, comfort, Miguel is kinda like a nurse here, lullabies, insecurities, depression/depressive episodes
Summary: The problem with Bee is that in their mind, they’re Superman; nothing can harm them, nothing can touch them. That is, until after weeks of neglecting their body, the consequences of slacking off and pretending like they’re not a human being finally catches up to them. Luckily enough, help is just one signal away
A/N: I KNOW yall are waiting for the next installment of ‘Spin The Bottle!’ but when I say I have been sick as a fucking dog I have been SICKUH as a goddamn dog. So this is my way of coping with how badly I wanna take a hammer to my fucking skull, okay byyyyyee~!
May 12th, 20XX. The Village at Alchemax University, Apartment 2901, 4:07AM. Earth-05213.
This, was an absolute nightmare.
Stuck in the comfort of their messy—and barely dressed—queen sized bed, Bee laid on their back with their face staring up at the ceiling as they struggled to take deep, clear breaths through their chest, a scorching feeling of heat spreading across their rounded face while a throbbing pain steadily knocked against the crown of their skull. It had only been two days since they invited their best friend, Loretta, over to hang out, who was sick as can be at the time. Yet despite their friends constant warnings, headstrong, stubborn Bee didn’t stop to think about the possible consequences that would affect them later down the line.
“Are you sure you want me to come over?” Loretta had cautiously asked during their previous phone call earlier that week, worried that her symptoms would quickly pass onto them. “I don’t want to get you sick—“
“Pffft, what? ’ll be fine!” Bee simply replied with a simple wave of their hand, brushing off their friends’ concern without any care in the world. “My immune system is like, impecable, remember? I’m made of steel!”
Now they could barely breathe, let alone even move. Of course they had been sick in the past, simple colds and maybe a the flue here or there, but never like this. Never to the point where breathing had to become manual, or where even attempting to move a single muscle felt like trying to drag around their deadweight plus some more.
Stuck with nowhere else to go, every ounce of energy they had went to focusing their attention on one thing and one thing only; getting help. From the one person they knew would come running. “H-Hey L-Lyla?” Bee croaked out through their dry, raspy throat, calling out to the beta AI Miguel had installed into their phone during finals last year as his ‘big project’. Something about wanting to ‘test out his programming skills’, mentioning how it had been a while since he got his ‘hands dirty’.
Nerd talk, of course. In the moment, it was cute, albeit a little awkward in an adorable way. But now? Bee couldn’t help but to thank the universe that he cared enough to do it.
“Yes, Bee?” The automated feminine voice called out, perky and cheerful as always. It was almost weird how happy she seemed, however Miguel did say he programmed Lyla after Bee. At the time, he had explained that he wanted an AI that was always happy to help no matter the situation, and with Bee’s constant elated demeanor, he got the perfect step-by-step on how to execute his flawless idea. “How can I help you today?”
“D-Distress…signal.” They replied through another gasp, one hand clutching at their chest in an effort to breathe. In through the nose, out of through the mouth. “Distress…signal…to Miguel.”
“Sending a distress signal to Miguel.” Lyla replied automatically, quickly forwarding the custom distress signal Miguel had installed. If Bee was ever in trouble, or if they ever needed his help, they did not have to hesitate when sending that signal because it would immediately alert him. No matter what time it was, or where he was, he’d find them.
Which…was a little creepy, since he also put a tracker into Bee’s device, giving him unlimited access to their location. Was it stalker-ish? Maybe. A breach in privacy? Perhaps. But in Bee’s eyes—and brain—it was romantic.
After all, they had his location too. 24/7, around the clock.
A full minute hadn’t even passed after the distress signal was sent before the familiar sound of Miguel’s custom ringtone began to echo throughout their bedroom, the theme song of the iconic late 60’s television show ‘Spider-Man’ loudly blaring as their phone vibrated on the dark oak nightstand standing next to their metal bed frame. “Spiderman, Spiderman. Does whatever a spider can. Spins a web—“
“Lyla…” Bee coughed, trying their hardest not to pass out before they could hear the calming sound of their boyfriend’s voice. “Answer…the call.”
Within seconds Miguel’s panicked voice came through the mic, the sound of his truck keys jingling in the background while he moved about. “Bee?!” He shouted, the octave of his tone slightly cracking from sheer worry. “Are you okay?!”
Instead of answering his question however, Bee could only cough again—although it sounded more like a hack, especially with the way their back arched from the mattress just to allow mucus to get out of their throat.
“Oh god—are you sick?” Miguel had asked, but once again, Bee’s only audible response was another raspy hack—one that sounded eerily close to a gag. “Bee?!”
Any more coughs, and they were sure they’d vomit. “H-Help….” Bee whispered through the pain, pressing the hand on their chest deeper into their skin to make sure they could still feel their heartbeat. Anybody else would’ve called it dramatic, but once they placed a hand over their chest,
It felt like they were barely alive.
“Pl-Please….” They whimpered, slowly turning their stiff neck towards the nightstand, hoping that their boyfriend could hear the distress in their voice. “Help…me…”
This was bad. Really bad.
Miguel cursed under his breath again, the loud noise of his thick, 20XX Silverado tires screeching against the pavement pouring into the phone. “Coño—I’m on my way, okay?” He comforted, yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t swallow just how scared he was deep down inside. “Just stay, still, okay? Don’t move.”
Bee weakly smiled again. After six months together, they picked up on his little quirks when he spoke. How he cursed in Spanish when he was under stress or relieved, how the tremor of his voice got heavy whenever they were talking about something that hit a little close to home, how he always repeated ‘okay’ when he was scared. God, they loved this man. He was so…unapologetically himself. With them, at least.
“Did you hear me?” Miguel repeated, his truck revving even faster in an attempt to get to them as quickly as possible. “Bee?!”
“I-I’m…I’m here.” Bee replied through a harsh breath. “I…I just…I n-need you….” They repeated, gasping for air again. “I n-need you, Miggy….”
“Mierda—I’m coming, okay? Just—just breathe for me, I need you to breathe. I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay?”
May 12th, 20XX. The Village at Alchemax University, Apartment 2901, 4:25AM.
The trip to Bee’s complex was a fast one, mostly because traffic laws didn’t exist in Miguel’s brain when his partner needed him. He had raced through the nearly empty streets of New York, ignoring red lights and cursing at anyone that got in his way. He wasn’t always like this, he told himself as he yelled ‘¡Quítate de en medio, hijo de puta estúpido!’ to a Nissan Altima that was going too slow for his liking, but at the same time, dire times called for desperate measures.
And fuck, was he desperate to get to his Bee. After all, the instant his phone screen illuminated with their distress signal in the confines of his luxury apartment bedroom, he hadn’t even bothered to change out of his pajamas before he grabbed his truck keys and bolted out the door.
Miguel barely even parked in an empty spot in front of Bee’s building before he hopped out of the drivers seat with a quickness, his grey house slippers meeting with the concrete as he took off in a full sprint in order to get to their apartment like a man on a mission. He probably looked crazy as hell to anybody that might’ve caught him—shaggy hair, a loose red shirt hugging his top while his plaid blue pajama pants danced along with the wind—but that was fine. He’d look crazy any day.
Once he finally reached Bee’s front door after scaling the apartment stairs in a matter of seconds, the first thing he did was trying t see if the door was unlocked. To which, unsurprisingly, it was.
How many times did he have to tell Bee to stop doing that?
With a low, irritated groan, he opened the door and stepped inside before calling out Bee’s name. “Bee?!” He bellowed out as he closed and locked the door from behind him, the bass of his voice echoing throughout their seemingly soulless living room. Everything was a mess; dishes stacked in the sink, blankets strewn about on the couch, and it was clear they hadn’t swept in god knows how long.
How had they allowed their house to get like this?
It didn’t matter however, because there were more important things occupying his mind; Bee’s safety and health. Miguel hurriedly made his way towards the open door to their room, unsure of what sight he’d see. “Bee! I’m here honey—“
He froze. The image before him nearly made him run in the opposite direction, the interior of their bedroom being an absolute disaster; covers tossed off of their bed, mysterious cups by their bedside, clothes scattered about on their desk—it had looked like they had barely moved for days. And speaking of clothes, there was one little detail Bee had forgotten to mention on their phone call,
They were barely wearing any.
Still laid on their back, the only clothing attached to Bee’s body was a lone pair of yellow panties, allowing the rest of their body to be on full display. Their wide hips, their generous stomach, their golden nipple piercings decorating their full breast—
“Dios, por favor ayúdame.” Miguel whispered to himself, a silent prayer to get his mind right before it got filled with images and scenarios that would be the opposite of help. Had he been warned that they were practically naked, maybe he would’ve been more prepared. “Okay—okay, okay, I can do this.” Carefully, he stepped over the first bunch of blankets that Bee had thrown onto the floor while he advanced towards their still body, making sure to keep his eyes down and onto the ground as to give them some sort of decency and respect. He prided himself on being a gentleman, after all.
Or at least, he tried to. After six months together, the closest thing the two had gotten towards sexual intimacy was Bee kissing on his lap with light grinding. They both made an extreme effort not to take it too fast, but this?
This could’ve killed him.
With all the courage he could muster, his eyes finally rose from the floor and to their bed frame, to the softness of their brown skin. He had never seen anyone naked up close before, let alone a romantic partner. Let alone someone like Bee. This was too much, his face was too hot, his pants were getting too tight, had they always been that curvy—
“M…Miggy…?” The softness of Bee’s voice snapped Miguel out of his downward spiral, his eyes quickly focusing on the frame of their pale face. Their eyes were red as if they had been crying, the color of the top of their flared button nose was a hot angry red that matched the top of their pulsing forehead, their locs had been draped over the lone cheetah print pillow underneath their skull as if they were trying to get as much heat off of their body as possible. “Mi…Miggy…?”
“I’m right here.” Miguel swiftly replied, taking a moment to kneel beside their bed as Bee’s head slowly turned to him. “I’m right here, baby.”
A slow, happy grin cracked across their sickly face, the corners of their eyes wrinkling with barely restrained happiness the moment their gaze connected. “Y-You…” Bee began with another raspy breath, watching Miguel’s hand come down to stroke their heated cheek in a soothing manner. “You came…”
Their lover smiled sweetly. “You called.” He reminded, admiring the way their eyes melted when they looked at him. “You know I’ll always come when you call.”
But before Bee could even respond to his heartfelt truth another round of harsh coughs racked from throughout their chest, prompting Miguel to take a lean back as he observed their weakened position. “Shit,” He mumbled, turning his body to try and find something to cover their nakedness. The first object that caught his eye was a lone tortilla blanket draped over their pink gaming chair, his thick hand swiftly swiping the cover off of the furniture before he turned back to his lover. “I’m gonna put this on you, okay?” Miguel reassured, holding out the tortilla just as Bee weakly shook their head.
“No….” They refused softly, turning their head to the other side with another raspy gasp. “Too…h-hot…s’ too hot…”
Possible fever, Miguel concluded in his mind while his hands dropped with the blanket as he swallowed, a vein in his neck slowly pulsing from the frustration gradually building throughout his body. They weren’t going to make this easy on him, were they? “Okay,” he whispered softly, before taking out his phone from his pajama pocket. “Lyla…analysis.”
Just as he had programmed, a bright orange light shot out from his phone flashlight, scanning Bee’s body from the top of their head down to the rest of their frame. Their neck, chest—
No, he shouldn’t look. Miguel was sure to turn his head away as that familiar feeling bubbled up in his gut once more, the same one that made his face feel as if it were on fire, and the bottom of his stomach feel as if it were infested with butterflies. All he had to do was focus on not getting hard all over again, and the longer the scan on Bee took, the longer it felt like Miguel was going to lose his mind all over again. If he hadn’t lost it already.
How was he going to talk to them after this? Knowing that he had practically seen them naked? Could he even do it without feeling like he would pass out?
”Scanning complete!” Lyla happily chirped, a full analysis report detailing Bee’s current symptoms materializing on his phone screen after what felt like years instead of a minute or two. He’d have to work on Lyla’s speed, it seemed. “After a careful observation, Bee’s current symptoms are; headache, congested lungs, sore throat, dry eyes, dehydration—“
”Dehydration…” Miguel quietly interrupted, yet Lyla continued on with her report anyway.
”Malnutrition, sinus congestion, and nausea!” She happily finished as if the report was made of rainbows and puppies—perhaps programming Lyla after Bee’s happy-go-lucky demeanor was a bad idea. At least it felt like it, in such a serious moment like this. “Current suggestions for rehabilitation are; the nearest trash can in about 30 seconds!”
Like he was alarmed of a sudden bomb, Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he fumbled with his phone, his mind racing miles a minute. “Th-Thirty seconds?! What’s in thirty seconds—“
As if on cue, a violent gag emerged from the back of Bee’s throat, their body turning to the side of their bed in preparation to dispel whatever contents they had in their stomach (if any) onto the sheets. “Huuuurrk!”
May 12th, 20XX. The Village at Alchemax University, Apartment 2901, 5:05AM.
It took twenty minutes to convince Bee to stop vomiting into the trash can Miguel scurried to find, then another twenty as he soothingly rubbed their back while the beau whined and cried about how much pain they were in.
‘“Make it st-stop—“ Bee sobbed through their gags into the plastic trashcan, their long locs twisted into Miguel’s fist as he tried to ensure no chunks would fall into their beautiful hair. “Make it stop Miggy—“‘
Miguel couldn’t figure out what kind of pain was worse, getting jumped, or having to listen to his lovers broken cries and labored sobs as they begged him to take the pain away. He wanted to, god did he. If he had the power to magically make everything better, he’d do it if it meant never having to hear them like that again.
But he wasn’t blessed with superpowers that could magically heal, he wasn’t given the ability to turn disease into dust. But, he was given his intelligence and his knowledge of how to ease the common flu, or whatever the hell Bee had that had them so sickly. After their intimate encounter with their small desk trashcan—and after Miguel consequently threw away the bag inside—Bee laid back on their bed with a weak whimper, the wet tears they had shed still drying on the apples of their cheekbones. “It hurts…” They cried out, squeezing both eyes shut as another round of nauseating pain ran through their body. “Miggy…”
“Where’s your medicine?” Miguel suddenly asked besides them, his hand now moved from their hair towards their hand, somewhere that wouldn’t be directly on their still naked frame. “Where do you keep it? The bathroom?” He asked, going for closed-ended questions rather than open. The less Bee had to talk, the better—a sore throat meant less talking was necessary. A necessary measure to ensure a complete recovery.
Yet, like always, his lover had other plans. “I don’t…have any.” Bee croaked out, turning their eyes to the side as a harsh cough rolled out from the back of their dry throat. “I—hack—I ran…I ran out…”
Miguel’s face notably soured as they continued, furrowing his brows while his lips slowly downturned into a frown. “I thought…it…it would…go away on its own…”
“That’s not how the human body works, Bee.” He scolded, lightly squeezing their palm with his own. Not tight, not in a way that would hurt them, but enough to display this obvious disappointment he had. “We’ve talked about this. Have you eaten at all?”
The familiar sound of their boyfriend’s reprimanding voice was nearly like a trigger at this point for Bee, not out of fear, but out of the daunting realization that they failed him. Like they let him down, something that seemed to be happening more as of late. They had been neglecting not only their health, but their basic needs—food, water, sunlight, activity. At first, Bee explained it was simply a lapse in their depression recovery, a simple slip of their over-active and always busy mind. But one week quickly became two. Then three. Then a month.
Without their permission, Bee could feel their eyes beginning to mist all over again, the feeling of their eyelashes wetting themselves in preparation for the waterworks syncing with the slow flare of their nose. In the back of their mind, all they could think about was how Miguel deserved a partner who took care of themselves, like him. Someone who was disciplined, like him.
Fearless, like him. Dedicated, regulated, strict like him.
There’s a rustle behind them just as the frame of Miguel’s hand catches their peripheral vision, followed by the warmth of his skin on their own before their head slowly guided itself back towards reality—to him. His tired yet affectionate eyes, his messy curly hair, simply him. “Dime.” His Spanish accent was like a cooling balm, soothing an ache that only he could sense from a mile away. “Habláme.”
A single wet tear made it’s way down Bee’s cheek at his heartfelt request, their bottom lip already trembling while they watched Miguel’s eyes widen through the fog of their watery tears. “I’m sorry.” A broken whisper filled the air just as the shadow of Miguels broad shoulders slowly overcame the remaining light on Bee’s body, the fat of his thumb already in motion to wipe away any sadness from their eyes. “I d-didn’t want you t-to know.” Bee admitted softly, never breaking his gaze with them. “I…I didn’t want to let you down.”
Let him down? Had he known they’d been struggling like this, had they let him help—
Miguel let out a heavy sigh, the heat of his breath brushing against Bee’s forehead while he shook his head in disagreement. “You didn’t disappoint me.” He softly reassured, watching as another tear slipped down their skin. “You scared me. You scared me today, and you’ve been scaring me.”
Bee’s eyes fluttered open at his confession, their gazes connecting as Miguel continued on. “You think I haven’t noticed you losing weight?” He asked quietly, the grip he held on their cheek tightening while a flashback of the past few months flickered through his mind like a haunting reminder. Bee had always been on the plumpier side—something he’d never complain about, if anything he loved it—but as of lately, they seemed…smaller. And not in the good way. Their face appeared more sunken in, their warm mahogany skin had been paler than usual, not to mention the slight muscle they did have in their arms and legs had been reduced to mush. The Bee he once knew and fell in love with was withering right before his eyes. “You think I haven’t picked up on the fact that everytime we go out for dinner, you pick at your plate?” Miguel pushed further, bringing his face closer to theirs. “Or that unless you’re with me, or with your friends, you barely leave this house?”
Each point made Bee’s eyes water even more, they hadn’t realized just how obvious their downfall had been. When you’re stuck in the same place, the same mindset, the world around you just moves. With, or without your permission. And perhaps, secretly, Bee had been hoping that nobody would notice, or that nobody would say anything.
But Miguel noticed everything. And he couldn’t not say anything.
At the sight of their growing tears, Miguel did what he always did best. “Shhh, shh, shh.” He softly cooed, wiping the wrinkles of his lover’s eyes dry as they babbled away weak apologies, mumbles of how they didn’t mean to disappoint him (again), or how they would do better at taking care of themselves. But every sobbed word went one ear and out the other, because this wasn’t about making him proud or even meeting whatever expectation Bee had created in their vast imagination. No, none of that mattered to him as his head leaned down, his cold lips pressing an affirming kiss to the crown of Bee’s scalp as he whispered a Spanish endearment into their hair. “No me importa que me hagas sentir orgulloso, me preocupo por ti, idiota.”
“Hey!” Bee squealed as they reached a single hand up to his cheek, their weak fingers slightly pinching the skin as a soft smile bloomed over Miguel’s lips. “I’m not an ‘idiota’!”
The already widening smile stretches farther at his lovers’ butchered pronunciation of the Spanish word, a broken snort escaping from the back of his throat from just how Americanized and country it sounded. “I thought you said you didn’t know Spanish?” Miguel lightly teased, earning himself another light pinch on his captured cheek. “¡Ay!”
“I said I know certain—“ In the middle of the much deserved rebuttal, another harsh cough mixed with a hack interrupted the playful moment, with Bee turning away in an effort not to spray their boyfriend in their infected breath as a slew of mucus rolled up from their clogged lungs. “Hack—!”
Miguel winced at the disgusting sound, jerking back his body slightly before he shook his head back and forth with a sigh. “You’re lucky we live in a city that never sleeps.” He commented with a roll of his eyes, before harping his focus on their closet from across the room. “Do you have any of my old shirts in your closet?”
Bee cleared their throat, trying to ensure they could speak properly without getting cut off again. “M-Maybe…why?”
“So I can dress you.” Their boyfriend replied nonchalantly, gesturing his hands at their body while his eyes made sure to focus on a different spot in the space. “I want to make you feel better. And I can’t do that if you’re…not…dressed.”
Suddenly aware of their nakedness, Bee had no choice but to slowly turn to the side in an attempt to shield their body from his gaze, although it was never on them to begin with because Miguel would rather die than to have the acknowledgement that he was ogling his naked partner—especially since they both made the promise to take their relationship slow. Well, for now, at least. “O-Oh.” They mumbled out, before their knees jerked inwards just as a sudden sneeze shot throughout them. “Choo!”
“Yeah…maybe you should take off school until you feel better.” Miguel commented before making his way towards their closet, stepping over piles of blankets and clothes as he did. “I’m gonna try and find something you can wear, then we’re making sure we get you some proper medicine.”
May 12th, 20XX. The Village at Alchemax University, Apartment 2901, 5:25AM
Finally, after what felt like forever, Miguel got Bee situated enough to where one, he could touch them without recoiling back in embarrassed shame and two, to where they might actually be able to get some rest while the couple waited for the DoorDash driver Miguel ordered to get there with Bee’s medication. Naturally, as a man studying genetics and biomedical procedures, Miguel made it his mission to get an entire laundry list of medicine that he deemed were necessary; ibuprofen, Mucinex, benadryl, cough syrup, cough drops, a humidifier—
“Miguel,” Bee quietly complained as they sat sideways in the larger mans lap, his thick arms wrapped around the plushness of their frame while his phone stayed gripped in his hands. The thickness of their thighs remained squished together and pressed into his side while his stretched out on the length of their mattress, tucked comfortably underneath the covers like he was the one going to sleep soon instead of Bee. “That was too much.”
If, the driver, Julius—no doubt some random student making money on the side—got here on time. One look at the driver estimate time and Miguel knew he would probably end up spending the night, and consequently the day, here with Bee.
Again. Julius was still thirty minutes away, and by the time he got here it would be nearly six in the morning. But it was fine, one part of his brain told him, it’s only five classes. He could make up five classes worth of work, he was already ahead in half of them anyway. “You didn’t have any medicine.” Miguel rebutted against Bee’s objection to the cost of the tab, turning his phone off with a single click before he placed it in the sheets where it was no longer visible. “Which, you and I need to talk about.”
Uh oh. Bee could tell that tone from anywhere. The one that screamed ‘You’re in trouble’. And usually, their body would be having the opposite effect right about now; their heartbeat would pick up, their skin would flush, a hasty ‘Oh, yeah?’ Would already be slipping out of their lips, but unfortunately it wasn’t. Simply for the fact that sexy flirtation wasn’t possible when you constantly felt like you were on a rollercoaster of death.
Their eyes slowly rolled from his hands towards his red shirt, taking their sweet time to admire how the fabric stretched across the mass of his pecs—
A thick hand interrupted their ogling with a swift tilt of their jaw, forcing Bee’s head to tilt back and look him directly in the eye. “Don’t avoid this conversation.” Miguel lowly warned, the corner of his eye twitching along with his words. “How long have you gone without any medication in your cabinets, hmm?”
If they weren’t sick, the things they’d do.
Bee’s cheeks flushed involuntarily, already trying to tilt their cheek away in an effort to escape his alluring gaze. Something that they adored—and simultaneously hated—was Miguel’s eye contact game. At first, they thought that he, for whatever reason, really liked to admire them but the longer they were with each other, the more Bee realized that was simply his nature. Miguel held eye contact with everyone for an uncomfortable period of time, he admired and analyzed life like one would a paper. Interested, intrigued, yet a little critical.
And they should’ve known escape would be a task too tall to order, because Miguel’s fingers made sure to keep a tight enough grip to where they couldn't turn nor look away from the stare he bore into their soul. “Don’t run.” He hummed, restraining a chuckle beneath his breath as he saw the darkening color on Bee’s cheeks. “Oh, it’s my voice again, huh?”
”Knock it off!” Bee squealed in his arms, using their shaking hands to push away his face while they tried to bury their own into the meat of his palm. “You know I hate it when you do that!”
Miguel rolled his eyes with a snort, nuzzling his nose against their skin. “So much rage, for someone who still hasn’t answered my question.” He commented sarcastically, watching Bee’s face slowly tilt back to his own. “I’ve never seen someone filled with so much hatred.”
“You’re not funny!” Bee argued, sticking out their tongue at him. “And I’m a herbalist! Modern medicine is designed to keep us—hack—“
”Aaaaand, thats enough talking.” Miguel declared, pulling Bee’s face back to his chest with after he ensured no spit got on his palm. “You need to save your voice before you lose it. Plus, it’s getting late.” He added, leaning his head back against Bee’s headboard. “You need your rest.”
Rest. As if they could get any rest. Bee rolled their eyes, yet despite their slight attitude they still allowed their body to melt in his embrace. “I c-cant sleep.” They revealed with a small grunt. “I…I haven’t been able to…not at all this week.”
Ah. That would explain the excessive bags under their eyes.
The sigh Miguel let out could’ve blown down houses in another lifetime, the air instead blowing up into Bee’s black mesh bed curtains as he contemplated ideas that could’ve aided his loving partner to slumber.
So he could swiftly follow, until the DoorDash came at least. Shit, he was tired too.
But Bee was hard to make fall asleep. They would jolt awake randomly during the last few ‘sleepovers’ the two had together, or stay up for hours at a time with very little rest in between and even tinier chances of genuine rest. Miguel had tried everything in the book to help Bee fall asleep in the past—massage, warm milk, playing with their hair, ASMR—but one stood out amongst the rest.
Hopefully his voice wasn’t too tired to perform.
”Honey?” Miguel softly called out, the sugary sweet pet name immediately rewarding him with an equally sweetened tone from the exhausted beauty in his arms.
“Yes, Miggy?” Bee answered lovingly, their cheek still pressed to his pec.
“Close your eyes.” The tone of one of their favorite songs started off scratchy, with Miguel’s voice slightly breaking at the high pitch but it didn’t matter. He was determined to see his plan through. ”Have no fear.”
Bee quickly went silent, the sound of their voice being replaced with soft, amazed gasps. Collectively on one occasion have they had the opportunity to hear him sing, and even then it was beautiful. But at night, when it was a melody curated just for them? He might as well said ‘I love you’.
”The monsters gone, he’s on the run,” Miguel continued, using his free arm to loop under Bee’s thighs and pull them closer. “And your Miggy’s here.”
Bee’s hands flew to Miguels chest just as the motion their soft body collided with his muscles, another embarrassed squeal already leaving their lips from the surprising jerk. ”Miguel!” They complained, sliding their hands up to his face to prevent him from leaning in again. “I’m still sick!”
“I don't care, don't ruin my lullaby.” A series of quick peck presses against the crown of their head again as his forehead nudged past their palm, continuing on with his lovesick singing. “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful—“
”Go to sleep, Bee.” Miguel continued. “Or else I’ll keep singing.”
”I’ll worry about the medicine. You worry about going to bed.”
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