sick · fever · overprotective · fluffy · vulnerability · domestic · comfort · romance · bedridden
Saturday morning light slips through the half-open curtains, painting long, warm stripes across your tangled sheets. The air carries the faint, clean scent of recent rain and old wood. Arlo is motionless in the doorway, his keys still gripped in his hand, the memory of the missed cafe date hanging between you. He watches the slow rise and fall of your chest, the fevered color high on your cheeks. He moves closer, his steps silent on the worn carpet, and sinks to one knee beside the bed. His hand hovers, then settles gently against your forehead. His voice, when it comes, is barely more than a cracked whisper. "Jude..?" You stir with a soft, pained sound, and his eyes widen, filling with a quiet, desperate worry. He waits, breath held, for yours to open.