Altea's Finest

“He’s really warm,” Keith mumbled, perched on the edge of the couch beside the sleeping form. “Do we have a thermometer anywhere?” 

“We have one in the medicine cabinet, I think,” Lance hummed, reaching down to lay the back of his fingers against Shiro’s cheek. Shiro stirred a little, turning his head further into the cool touch, though he didn’t wake. “It’s pretty old. Let’s hope it still works.”

Keith, nodding in agreement, rose from the couch. Lance took his spot, brushing fingers through Shiro’s hair, the salt-and-pepper strands stroked back from feverish skin. He really was warm. Keith arrived back, thermometer in hand, and with a look of worry exchanged between them, Lance began to ease the sleeping man into consciousness with a gentle pat to his cheek. 

Shiro, riddled with congestion and fever, was reluctant to wake. His eyes cracked open, glassy with fever, and he only grunted out a soft, “何?”

Neither Keith nor Lance understood - they had both tried to pick up on the basics of the language, but it had proven neither were very good at it - and Shiro turned his head to one side, mumbling, “What? Why’d you wake me…?”

Lance, giving a sympathetic smile to the sleepy man, took the thermometer from Keith. “You’ve got a temperature, Shiro,” the device was turned on, and carefully, Lance instructed, “Open your mouth.”

Shiro didn’t take much coaxing, sleepy and pliable; Keith knelt by the edge of the couch, Lance sitting on the edge, and they waited. The thermometer, trusty as ever, beeped after thirty seconds - announcing that Shiro was running a fever of 102.3. Lance plucked it from under Shiro’s tongue, and Keith propped himself up to get a good look - at the reading, Keith found himself glancing to Shiro, while Lance whispered a soft, “Mierda.”

 He was definitely not doing too well, that was for sure. 

Keith wasn’t the best at being comforting, though he brushed the tip of his fingers through Shiro’s hair as he had seen Lance do before. “He’s pretty sick,” Keith murmured, worried, and Lance nodded. “But he’ll be fine - we’ll just have to take good care of him, right?”

A comforting gaze, and a smile from Keith - he knew everything would be alright.

Shiro had woken not long after that, to the feeling of a blanket being laid over himself. Keith and Lance weren’ sure what was best - sweating it out, or cooling him down - as they knew both had repercussions. 

Lance stood at the end of the couch, gnawing on the inside of his lip anxiously, and Keith sat beside Shiro as he stirred awake. “hey,” He softly said, watching as Shiro’s glassy eyes focused on him.

“Hey,” Came a gravelly, congested voice. Shiro peered down to Lance, too, and untucked his hand from under the blanket so he could rub the sleep from his left eye. “What’s goin’ on…?”

“You’re sick,” Lance announced, and Keith nodded in return, laying a hand over Shiro’s forehead. Although Shiro didn’t want to admit it, it was blissful. “You’re got a nasty fever.”

“Oh.”

“So we’re gonna take care of you for a while. We don’t want you driving home when you’re feverish. That sound okay?”

“Mhm.”

The short answers had Keith and Lance glancing at one another, worried. Shiro took no notice, still waking up. He slowly sat up, but it took energy he didn’t have, and upon noticing how exhausted he was, Keith moved to ease himself behind him, arm around his shoulders as he propped the other up. “You good?”

Shiro was staring at his lap, sleepy and dizzy and just feeling terrible, all-round. He was so sleepy, and as he let his head droop to Keith’s shoulder, his eyes slid closed. 

“I’m good… Tired, though.”“You want to lie down again?”

A nod was all it took, and Keith was gently settling Shiro back against the pillows. Standing from the couch, both Keith and Lance looked down to the ailing man, who finally seemed content enough just to rest.

Fingers entwined, they headed from the living room, dimming the lights as Shiro dropped back off to sleep.

he’s here,,, and he’s ready.. ,,,

“Yelling at me isn’t going to help your sore throat.”

“You said it was just a cold last week and you’re still not better!”

“This medicine must be expired or something, it isn’t helping at all.”

“At least rest until your fever’s down.”

“I think that’s a rash…”

“Sounds like you lost the fight to that cold.”

“Get up one more time, and I swear I will strap you down to the bed!”

“Whoa there, snot monster! Just where do you think you’re going??”

“Yikes. Your fever really came back with a vengeance, huh?”

“Don’t force yourself to eat that if your stomach’s not up to it.”

“Why does the thermometer always disappear when I want to take your temperature?”

“Please let me help you, I’m scared you’re gonna fall.”

“This is your last chance to say something that makes sense before I haul your butt to the doctor.”

“I don’t think you got over your cold, sounds like it just moved into your chest.”

“Wow, that bug really took a lot out of you.”

“Between the sprain and the sniffles, you really can’t catch a break this week.”

“Bad cough, much? Your ribs okay??”

“Never thought I’d say this, but I liked it better when you were feeling up to complaining.”

“Here, take my coat. This rain isn’t going to do you any favors, you’re barely over being sick.”

“You couldn’t have picked a worse time to lose your voice.”

“Sorry, but you’ve gotta lose the blanket burrito until your fever breaks.”

Characters who are normally tummy sleepers tossing and turning cause whatever way they lie they can still feel the nausea creeping up their throats

Characters who are normally tummy sleepers waking up on their front only to be very violently sick seconds later cause of the pressure…