★

You shake your head, still not even bothering to give them your attention. You continue writing your report, feeling multiple sets of eyes boring into you. Another sneeze can be heard from the office upstairs, you have to fight the urge to look up at his window. 

It didn’t take a genius to know that Hotch was sick, it was apparent the second he walked in this morning. Coat buttoned up to his chin on a warm April morning. Red nose and a faint rasp in his voice. 

“He’s pale.” JJ comments, “Like hospital pale.”

That has your attention. Your head snaps up to look up at the windows where your boss is sat at his desk working. They’re right, he does not look good. 

“So, who’s feeling brave?” Rossi asks, walking out of his office and gesturing to Hotch. “I already tried earlier this morning.” 

Rossi’s eyes fall to you. 

“No.”

“Bella!” He praises, walking down the steps to come closer to your desk, “Kid, you’ve got the right way with people.”

“And you’re his favorite.” Morgan adds, you flip him off over your shoulder. 

From behind you, Reid mutters, “Statistically speaking, the likelihood of him allowing any of us to question his well-being without consequences is extremely low. Y/n, however is-”

“Enough.” You roll your eyes and get up from your desk. You hate that this worked. 

Everyone was quick to celebrate their success until you look over at them after climbing up the stairs, the bullpen going silent. You knock on the doorframe as gently as possible. 

“Sir?”

He waits for a second or two before looking up from his computer, his eyes still sharp but glossier than normal. His cheeks look flushed, and now that you’re this close you can see that he’s sweating. He’s too warm, and it looks like he’s holding himself up with sheer will. 

“You’re sick.”

“I’m functional.” His fingers still hover over the keys. 

“That is not the same thing.” You lean against the frame now, you can feel the focus of everyone coming from behind you. 

The corner of his mouth twitches, “What are they saying out there?”

“That you’re stubborn. And a workaholic. And that you’re going to pass out dramatically if we don’t get you home.” 

“That last part sounds like Morgan.” 

You cut him a look that shows you aren’t going to let him change the subject. 

“I’m fine-” A sneeze cuts him off before he can finish whatever reason he was about to sell you for why he’s fine to stay. 

“You were saying?” You raise your brows with an unimpressed look. 

“You need rest.” You add quietly, taking a step into his office. Your fingers hover over the edge of his desk. 

“We have a briefing and new case loads-”

“You need rest.” You repeat, “You have an entire team to delegate this to. Go home for the day.” 

“Are you telling me what to do?” You can tell he’s using his energy to show you an entertained face. 

“Highly suggesting.” You quip. 

Your eyes hold on each other, something unspoken passing between you two. It feels warm and familiar. Every time you two are alone it turns to this eventually. The tension burns past all forms of professionalism. 

He exhales eventually, “Fine. One day.”

Your smile was immediate. 

“I’ll walk you out.” 

Hotch pushes back his chair and stands, instantly swaying. 

“Hotch-” you reach out. He stabilizes himself on the desk, bracing himself. 

“I-uh-I’m fine.” He says it more like a reflex rather than actually expecting you to believe him. 

“You’re really not.” 

His knees buckle for a half second, “Morgan!” 

You reach out a hand to help Hotch stay up, Morgan was quick to get to you. 

“Can you help him down to my car?” You ask, looking directly at Morgan, “I’m gonna pack up his stuff and then I’ll drive him home.” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Morgan reaches out an arm under Hotch’s. He hesitantly takes it and they slowly walk out of the office together. You close his laptop and grab all of his current and upcoming case files. 

Rossi tilted his head toward Hotch and Morgan “You driving?”

You answer while walking out of his office before Hotch could, “No.”

“He almost passed out while standing up, he’s not driving.” You go over to your own desk and grab your things. “I’ll keep my phone on.”

JJ smiles softly at you, “Text us when you get there.”

You nod and walk ahead of Hotch and Morgan to hit the button for the elevator. Your car was thankfully not too far away in the garage. Morgan managed to get a sneaky ‘favorite’ in before you pulled out of the garage, him waving at you both. 

The drive was quiet at first. Hotch was leaning back in the passenger seat, one hand bracing his temples and blocking his face. He can’t even keep his eyes open at this point. 

“You should’ve told someone sooner.” Your voice soft, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t want to disrupt the team.” His voice still full of gravel. 

You look over at him, “Hotch, you are the team.” 

He didn’t even bother trying to fight you on that one. The car went back to the silence until you were nearly halfway to the Hotchner residence. His phone ringing loudly from the pocket of his briefcase. 

“It’s school.” He straightens immediately in his chair and answers, “Hotchner.” 

“Mr. Hotchner? This is the school nurse, Jack is running a fever and isn’t feeling well. We need someone to come pick him up. I know his Aunt Jessica is out of town for the next three days.” 

His face fell instantly, “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

You turn around hearing all of this, you know you already passed the school. 

“Y/n, you don’t have to do this.” 

“You’re sick.” You smile, “He’s sick.”

“I can take care of my son.” His voice is tight, but it isn’t defensive.

“Hotch, I know you can. But what are you going to do?” You ask, raising your brows with genuine concern. You don’t want to outright tell him he can barely take care of himself, how does he expect to take care of an eight year old. 

He studies your face, looking for signs of pity or judgement. All he can find is care and concern. 

He nods, “Thank you.” 

You don’t say anything back, you don’t need to. You simply smile and keep on driving. 

-

Hotch looked steadier walking down the hall than he did back at the office. If you had to guess, it would be purely parental adrenaline fueling him. In the nurses office Jack is sitting on a cot, his cheeks are flushed to match his dad. 

“Hey, buddy.” Hotch’s voice is softer than you typically hear. 

“Hi, Dad.”

Jack sat up a little straighter, looking over his dad’s shoulder to spot you. His expression froze still before a surprised grin graces his face.

“Y/n!” 

You smile and take a few more steps into the nurses office to crouch down to his level. 

“Hey, Jack. I heard you aren’t feeling too well.” 

He shrugs you off, trying to play it cool. “I’m okay.” 

You reach a hand out to brush his hair off his forehead, “You’re pretty warm, bud.”

Jack closes his eyes and leans into the touch. Hotch notices, of course he did. 

“You came with Dad?”

“Yeah, I drove him.” 

You vaguely hear the nurse telling Hotch about how his fever was still rising. She insists on taking his temp one more time before leaving.

“Any chance you can do him next?” You ask, nodding your head to where Hotch stands with his arms crossed.

Hotch cuts you a glance that reminds you he’s your boss. 

“Kidding.” 

“Are you feeling sick as well?” The nurse turns her focus back on Hotch. 

“Yeah, it would seem the family is coming down with it.” He sighs, reaching out his arm to check the time on his watch. 

“Well, hopefully you aren't the next one, honey!” She winks at you and turns back to the paperwork on the counter behind her. Hotch doesn’t bother to correct her, not the time. He’s lacking enough energy to explain the dynamic and who you actually are to them. 

“Dad, you’re sick too?” A worried expression takes over Jack’s face. His eyes are wide with concern. You beat Hotch to the punch.

“Just a little bit.” You answer, “Don’t worry, we’re gonna take care of him and you. Teams take care of each other.”

He nods and mutters a quiet ‘that’s good’. You can see how tired the little guy is, his eyes are watery. 

“Ready to go home, buddy?” Hotch asks.

He nods again, getting up and slowly walking out. You follow both of the sick boys, as they lazily walk out to the car. The drive is quiet, you have the radio playing softly. Jack is curled up in his seat in the backseat, you can see him fighting to stay awake. He watches you in the mirror, and pretends he isn’t. Hotch catches him a few times too. 

“Are you staying?” he asks at one point. 

You glance over at Hotch before answering him, “If that’s okay with your dad.” 

Jack looks at his dad. He looks back at him, his expression turns sweet when looking at his son. 

“Yeah, she’s helping us today.”

Jack visibly relaxed back into his chair. 

“Cool.”

You bite back a chuckle, focusing on the road ahead of you. By the time you’re pulling into the driveway, it’s not even noon. The neighborhood is quiet. It’s the middle of the day during the work week, most people aren’t home right now. Hotch is never at home right now. 

“Alright,” You turn around to face Hotch from your seat still, “Operation Get Better starts now.” 

Jack perks up, “Is there soup involved?”

Hotch huffs out a quiet laugh that turns into a cough. You turn back to look at him, cutting him a concerned face. 

“I’m fine.” He mutters. 

“Mhm.” 

You all moved into the house together, Jack close to your side. Hotch was grateful the house was actually in a fairly clean state. Jack kicks off his shoes at the door and plants himself on the couch with a groan. 

“We just need fluids, rest, and probably cartoons.” You continue walking past the living room to the kitchen. 

Jack nods, “Doctors say cartoons help?”

“Of course! Ask Spencer the next time you see him.” 

Hotch is sure you’re banking on Jack forgetting by the time he sees Spencer next, unless he actually has unleashed some cartoon fact on you already. He tries to ignore a wave of dizziness that rolls through him. You clock it instantly. 

“Sit.” You insist. 

“Y/n-”

“You don’t get to argue today.”

Jack looks between you two, “Dad, you should listen.” 

He looks defeated as he stares back at his son. You would be concerned for how you’re ordering your boss around if it weren’t for his cute rosy cheeks. He is far from your boss right now and you both know it. Defeated, he sits down. 

You let out a satisfied ‘hmph’ before turning back toward the kitchen to see if Hotch actually has what you need to make soup. Thankfully, he’s well stocked and you’re able to navigate yourself around the kitchen as if you had done it a hundred times. Every once and a while you catch Hotch looking over the back of the couch and watching you work. 

“She’s pretty cool.” Jack whispers loud enough for only his dad to hear. 

You continue stirring obliviously at the stove, your sleeves pushed up while humming along to something that he’s sure played in the car earlier. 

“Yes.” He quietly agrees, “Yes, she is.”

-

The smell of chicken noodle soup has completely taken over the house. Hotch and Jack were sitting at the counter now that you were nearly finished. 

“Do you cook like this often?” Hotch asks. 

You don’t look up from the pot, “Always, I love to cook.” 

After pulling down two bowls, you bring one over to Jack first. 

“Careful, it’s hot.” You warn. 

Jack pulls it closer with both hands. You grab the other bowl and put it in front of Hotch and then just lean against the edge of the counter facing them. Jack takes the first cautious bite after blowing on his spoon. 

“This is… really good!”

You gasp dramatically, “Is it?”

“Mhm!” He nods eagerly. 

You turn to Hotch who is watching both you and Jack, so you raise an unimpressed brow. 

“Eat.” 

“I am not eight years old.” He reminds. 

“Correct.” You smile, “Which means I shouldn’t have to tell you.” 

He raises a brow to match yours. You can barely see it, but the corner of his mouth that is typically in a frown wavers which tells you he’s hiding his amusement. It’s moments like these, looking into his warm brown eyes, that you get confused on what you mean to each other. It’s clear to see the care, and warmth right on each other's face. 

He pauses, before taking a sip of his own. 

“... This is very good.” 

You beam, “Did you hear that Jack?”

He nods, but it doesn’t take long for his cough to pick up. You rub soothing circles on his back that do nothing. 

“Alright,” You huff and begin walking down the hallway toward the stairs, “Where would I find medicine?” 

“Bathroom cabinet.” He calls after you.

You make your way to the guest bathroom and find a thermometer, fever reducer, and kids medicine. No adult medicine. You peek your head outside to the hallway, as if Hotch was going to catch you. You know he’s in no state to be running upstairs, so it’s safe to check his bathroom. Which means going into his bedroom. 

You’ve never been in his room before, even with all the times you’ve been here. There’s never been a reason. Unsurprisingly everything is in perfect order, including adult cold medicine. You also grab a couple wash cloths before bounding back down the stairs. 

“I hate medicine.” Jack whines dramatically. 

“Everybody hates medicine, but we can make your dad go first.” 

You snort at Jack’s grin, pointing at his dad with his own laugh. Hotch does a good job going first, taking the small cup from your hand after you measured it out. You do the same for Jack after. 

“Temp check.” 

You take Jack’s temperature, the same as it was at the nurses office. You move onto Hotch, who huffs before complying. 

“Higher?” 

“Managable.” 

You all make your way back to the living room, Jack was visibly fading away with exhaustion. You and Jack take the couch and Hotch takes the armchair. Jack’s eyelids droop between the cartoons, he slowly shifts closer to you. 

“You okay, Jack?” You reach out a hand to press his hair back off his forehead.

Half-gone, “Just sleepy.”

“Come here.” 

You help him pull his blanket up over his shoulders while he settles his head in your lap. You freeze for a second, your hand hovering over him before it feels natural. You run your hand over his hair, after a few minutes his breathing evens out. Hotch is watching you both from the armchair, unable to look away. 

“You’re very good with him.” His voice is low enough for Jack to sleep through. 

You look down at him, “He makes it easy.” 

“Jack doesn’t trust people easily.” He reminds. 

“I know.” 

It gets quiet in the room again, the house faintly humming with life. The refrigerator cycling, TV cartoons, wind brushing against the windows, and Jack’s deep sleep breaths. You finally look up at Hotch, his eyes already on you. 

“You should really rest too.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You have a fever and you’re sitting upright.” 

He doesn’t deny it. 

He looks around the room, his eyes falling on Jack. You absentmindedly trace circles over Jack’s back, everything feels so calm. 

“The house feels..” He pauses, looking for the words. 

You wait. 

“..warm. It feels right.”

Your chest tightens immediately. You’re sure if Jack’s head wasn’t in your lap right now, your body would force you to stand up. 

“I don’t want to sleep away a minute of it.” He continues. 

“You won’t.” 

You keep your voice as soft as possible. He meets your eyes. 

“I’ll still be here when you wake up.” 

Something in his face shifts, you think it's a relief. Maybe something deeper. Maybe something too dangerous for either of you to admit or put a name to. 

“You don’t have to stay.”

“I know.” You reply. 

Jack stirs slightly before burrowing in closer to your lap. You smile and pull the blanket up a little closer. Hotch watches for another long moment, then he decides to recline the chair. He closes his eyes, but doesn’t fall asleep right away. He just rests, letting the sound of Jack breathing and your quiet presence anchor him.

The house stays warm. 

-

Jack stirred first. It started with a cough that became restless and ended up with him looking at you with a disoriented look while he rubbed his eyes. 

“Hey, buddy.” 

His voice comes out gravely like Hotch’s did this morning, “I’m hot.” 

“I know,” You gently guide him upright, “Let’s cool you down a bit.” 

You look over at Hotch and are thankful to see that he’s still out cold. The tension in his shoulders finally dropped, replaced instead with the kind of exhaustion that is built up on days of no sleep. Maybe even years of it.

“Come on, let’s get you upstairs.” 

Jack nods, and he takes your hand as you both walk upstairs together. You get him a cool wash cloth and place it on his forehead after tucking him in. You negotiated another round of medicine as it’s been hours and it’s wearing off. 

“Cold!” he mumbles the second it makes contact

“Sorry, it’s a necessary evil.” you whisper. 

“Are you staying?” He’s already drifting back again. 

“I’m just gonna be right downstairs.” You promise, “I’ll check in on you, and you just call my name if you need anything.” 

“Okay.” He murmurs, eyelids fluttering closed. 

Within minutes, he was asleep again. 

-

When Hotch wakes up, it’s darker out now. Evening is settling around them, the TV is off and a new scent takes over the house. 

You move quietly around the kitchen, cooking some fresh vegetables and rice to add to leftovers and make them stretch a little longer. Something comforting and warm enough to fill the house with the smell of home. 

Currently you have Garcia on speaker while working through a sinkful of dishes. 

“- yet you’re still there?” She practically shrieks, you immediately dry your hands to turn your volume down. 

“I’m making sure that two people I care about don’t starve or pass out.” 

Garcia hums knowingly, “Mhm, that’s what you’re calling it now.” 

“I actually called to ask you about the cases, but you’re the one that keeps circling back.” You huff, rinsing another dish. 

“Yes, yes, crime fighting and moral obligations,” You can hear her typing away, “I gave Rossi the stuff you sent over earlier and he said it was good. The team is very curious-”

“Garcia.” You warn. 

“Morgan is starting a pool-”

“I’m hanging up.” You groan. 

“Wait!” She yells loudly, “How is he?”

You dry your hands with the kitchen towel, “He’s resting. He’ll be okay.” 

“And Jack?” 

“The same. His fever is going down.” 

A pause. 

Garcia awes, “You’re good for them, you know.” 

You don’t answer. 

“Okay.” Garcia’s voice is gentle, “I’ll let you go, call if you need anything.”

“Will do.” 

“Night, Mama Bear.” 

You sigh, “Goodnight, Garcia.”

You shake your head and turn around to lean against the sink, nearly jumping out of your skin when you see Hotch leaning against the doorway. He looks way too charming in a casual hoodie and sweatpants, a small smirk on his face. Sleep is still lingering in his eyes, but he looks better. 

“How long have you been standing there?” 

“Long enough to hear Garcia call you mama bear.” 

“Yeah, she’s been pretty insufferable since she found out I was still here.”

He steps into the kitchen slowly, still a little disoriented from sleep. 

“I just checked on Jack.” Your voice is soft, “He’s asleep upstairs. The fever is still there, but it’s lower.” 

He nods, relief flashing across his face, “Thank you.” 

Hotch says it in a way that carries weight. Gratitude layered with something deeper. Something warmer. He leans across the counter from you, studying your face in the kitchen light. 

“You didn’t have to stay all day.” 

He heard you going over your case notes with Garcia and making sure the team was still pushing through all their work without him there. 

“I know.” 

“You had paperwork. Your own life. Your own-”

“Aaron.” You cut him off sweetly. 

The use of his first name hung between them. Rare. Careful. Intentional. 

“I stayed because I wanted to.” 

Silence takes over the kitchen, but it isn’t uncomfortable. It was charged in that simmering way you both had ignored for months. 

“You step into chaos like it’s second nature.” He finally breaks the silence, “At work. Here. With Jack. With me.” 

You smile, “It feels right.” 

“You make me feel safe.” 

Your hands still, no longer twisting the kitchen towel you’ve been holding since you were doing the dishes. His eyes are looking over you while he searches for the words. 

“I try to keep a distance. It’s part of leading the team. It’s part of protecting the team.” 

“I know.” 

“But with you-” He exhales slowly, “It’s harder.” 

Your heart went from skipping to beating erratically. 

“This thing between us?” You ask quietly. 

He nods, his eyes refusing to leave yours. 

“It’s not one sided.” You admit. 

The air in the house shifts. Neither of you move closer together. Neither of you move away.

“I worry about what it means,” He says honestly, “For the team. For Jack. For you.” 

“All valid concerns.” You agree. 

“And yet, today felt…”

“...right.” You finish for him. 

He nods, and takes a half step closer to you. He reaches out his hand for yours and you take it, letting him pull you into his side. You melt into him while he wraps his arm around you. 

“What would this look like?” You ask after a moment. 

“I would say slow, but you already fit in so well.” He confesses, “I’m already going to have a hard time letting you leave.” 

“Then maybe we just… start dating.” You reply.

The simplicity of it made something in Aaron’s chest lighten. He hadn’t felt like this in years. 

“Casually.” he agrees. 

“Casually.” You echo.

You sway together in the kitchen, some of his weight on you as the time passes and his strength weakens.

“You need more cold medicine.” You mumble into his chest.

He exhales a laugh, “You got it.” 

You step away to grab the bottle and pour some for him.

The corners of his mouth lift, “Are you staying?”

You meet his gaze, steady and calm. 

“For a little while longer, if that’s okay.”

His answer is immediate, “It is.” 

-

Jack was groggy when you went upstairs, his sheets tangled around his legs in bed. 

“Dinner time, bud.” 

He blinks up at you, “Soup?”

“Not this time.” 

You help him out of bed and together walk downstairs and join Aaron at the table. 

“How’re you feeling, buddy?” He asks right away. 

“M’okay.” He looks between you two, “Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, while passing out food onto their plates. 

“Daddy won’t stop looking at you.” 

Aaron’s face immediately goes into his hands, his elbows resting on the table. You can see the red peeking through his fingers. You clear your throat to let him take this one. 

“Uh-” Aaron coughs, something tells you it has nothing to do with his cold, “Y/n and I are seeing each other. Like really good friends. She’s gonna hang out with us more.” 

“Cool.” 

Jack picks up his fork and begins shoveling in the food in front of him. You and Aaron both exchange surprised looks. 

“How do you feel about that, Jack?” You ask. 

He shrugs, “You both take care of people, and you both save people from the bad guys.” 

“That’s true.” Aaron nods. 

“And,” Jack continues, “You both worry about each other a lot.”

Your chest tightens, and you smile fondly at him. This kid is smart. 

“You wouldn’t be upset?” Aaron asks, caution still in his voice. 

He shook his head instantly, “I think we’d be a good team!”

His words land heavier than an eight year old could have ever intended. You reach over to brush his hair off his forehead again. 

“That’s a pretty great way to think about it.” 

Dinner was lighter even with the heavy eyes and exhausted bodies. Jack managed to clean his plate before his blinks started to slow. You barely touched your food, a headache setting in. You wince after grabbing all the plates. Aaron notices. Of course. 

“You okay?” He asks.

“Fine.” Your answer is automatic, “Just tired.” 

Jack squinty, getting his second wind, “You sound like dad did this morning.”

You sneeze before anyone else can say anything else. You whip around after to look at them at the table.

“Oh no.”

“Y/n is sick!” Jack shouts. 

“Yeah, I should probably head out.” You clear your throat which is starting to feel scratchy. Aaron gets up from the table to walk you to the door. 

“No.” Jack’s voice firm, still at the table, “Y/n, you said that teams take care of each other.”

You turn to Aaron, quietly muttering ‘this kid is good’. 

“He’s so going to the BAU.”

“God, I hope not.”

You both turn back to Jack who is looking at you with wide concerned eyes. 

“You don’t have to-”

“We do have the guest room. Extra blankets and medicine. Amazing soup leftovers.” Aaron grins. 

“You make a very good point.” You sigh. 

Jack pumps a sleepy fist in the air to celebrate, followed by a yawn and a coughing fit. You immediately crouch down and rub his back, Aaron places a hand on your shoulder in silent thanks. 

It didn’t take much to get Jack to go to bed for the night after that. One cartoon and snuggle with you were negotiated, and the promise that you would be here in the morning. After that, both you and Aaron followed him up the stairs to tuck him in. One last round of meds before bed, slowly pulling his door shut. 

You lean against the door, Aaron leans against the wall opposite you. A shiver runs down your spine, you rub the goosebumps on your arms. 

“You’re getting worse.” he comments. 

“I’m fine.” You can’t even ignore how bad your voice sounds when you speak. 

“C’mon,” He takes your hand in his and leads you through his room to the bathroom, “You need medicine.” 

“Yes, sir.” You tease weakly. 

He hands you a fever reducer and some cold medicine without comment. 

“You know,” You hold the pills in your hand, “this feels a little like karma.” 

“For?”

“Bossing you around all afternoon.” You smirk. 

A wide smile stretches across his face, “You’re still taking them.” 

You eye him for a moment, before rolling your eyes and throwing them back and chasing it with some water. He doesn’t step away, instead boxing you in against the bathroom counter, making sure you stay upright. 

You aren’t that sick, yet. Instead his care charges the moment with the close contact. Neither of you back away, still just drinking each other in. 

“You know,” Your voice hushed, “I can’t get you sick back yet since you’re still sick.”

His mouth twitches. He knows what you’re doing. 

“You’re sick.” 

“So are you.” You counter. 

“That isn’t responsible-”

“But what’s the harm?” You innocently raise your brow, but the way you bite down on your bottom lip is far from fair. 

He exhales, he’s close enough that it fans across your face. Months of almost moments that have bounced between you two. Lingering glances and quiet conversations. 

His voice is low and strained when he finally speaks, “I’ve thought about this,”

“Me too.” You interrupt.

“More than I probably should.”

You nod, “Same.” 

You chuckle and he reaches a hand forward to brush his thumb across your cheekbone. 

“This is a terrible idea.” He continues. 

“Yet, you’re still pressing me into this counter.” 

He hadn’t even realized he was doing it, but he is pressed against you now. Your ass meeting the edge of the counter. 

“And even if this is a terrible idea, I’m willing to risk it.” 

His breath caught at that. For a moment he studied your face like he was memorizing every inch. His touch is warm, careful in a way that makes you ache. You lean into his hand. 

“You’re sure?” 

You know this is him trying to give you an out. A safe exit away from a future relationship with your boss and his son that you already care too much for. 

“I’ve been sure for months.”

That is all he needed to hear. 

The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant from both of you. As if you were both desperately afraid of breaking the other, but when his hand shifted to cradle the back of your neck you took the opportunity to card your fingers through his hair. All the months of restraint breaking while the kiss deepens. Warm and searching each other in a way that is long overdue. 

You exhale softly against him, he pulls you closer by wrapping his arm around your waist to hold you both steady. When you both can’t catch your breath, you pull away and rest your forehead against his. 

Bitter cherry flavored cold medicine has never tasted so good. 

“So worth the risk.” 

He let out a rare loud surprised laugh, the sound erupts butterflies within you at how warm and unguarded he is right now. 

“Definitely.” He agrees, “We’re going to have to be very careful at work.”

“Absolutely,” You nod, “I plan to be extremely professional while secretly thinking such naughty things about you.” 

“That sounds distracting.” 

You slide your hands around his torso, “You’ll survive.” 

You tilt your head up to capture his lips in another quick kiss. And another. And another. You only pull away to turn to the side and sneeze loudly, shaking you both in your spot. 

“I’m so sorry we got you sick.” 

“It was worth it.”