SOFT THOUGHT (w. yixiang)
pairing: sick!nicholas x reader || wc: 0.6k || cw: fluff! established relationship, use of petnames || warnings: none! || a/n: after being sick for more than a week i figured i needed to write someone else being sick lmao </3
it’s late, almost midnight, and the room is lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. nicholas has been quiet all evening, which isn’t like him. usually he’s talking your ear off about practice or teasing you about something silly, but tonight he just curled up beside you in bed, face half-buried in your neck, breathing slow and warm against your skin.
you noticed the heat first. not the cozy one from cuddling, but the kind of warmth that makes you worry. he feels too warm, even through his thin t-shirt. when you brushed his hair back, his forehead was burning.
“nico,” you whisper, shifting so you can see his face. his eyes are closed, lashes fanning over slightly flushed cheeks. “baby, are you okay?”
he hums, low and sleepy. “just tired. and cold. hold me tighter.”
but he’s not cold. he’s radiating heat. you slip your hand to the back of his neck — warm. then his cheek — warmer. your heart does that little worried squeeze.
“wait,” you murmur, sitting up a bit. he makes a small displeased sound when you move away, trying to follow you like a sleepy cat. “let me check something.”
you gently cup his face with both hands and lean in, pressing your forehead against his.
the contact is instant. he’s hot. like really hot. your cool skin against his feels like pressing against a little furnace, and you can feel the faint dampness of sweat at his hairline.
nicholas freezes for a second, then lets out the softest laugh, breath ghosting over your lips. “what are you doing?” he mumbles, voice raspy and fond.
“checking if you have a fever, dummy,” you say, but you don’t pull away yet. neither does he. your foreheads stay pressed together, noses almost touching, sharing the same air.
“old-fashioned way, huh?” he teases weakly. “very romantic.”
“shut up,” you whisper, but you’re smiling. “you’re definitely warm.”
“am i? maybe i just like being this close to you.” his hands find your waist under the blanket, tugging you closer until you’re practically on top of him again. “feels nice. your forehead’s cold. stay.”
“nicholas, you might be sick.”
“then take care of me,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “kiss it better. forehead kisses cure everything.”
you huff, but you can’t resist him when he’s like this — soft, clingy, a little pouty with his eyes closed. so you press a gentle kiss right between his brows, lingering. then another. and another.
he sighs, melting under you. “more.”
“you’re spoiled,” you mutter against his skin.
“only by you.” his voice is barely above a whisper now, sleepy and content. “cmon, don’t stop. feels good.”
so you keep your forehead against his, breathing together in the quiet. every few seconds you drop another tiny kiss — his brow bone, the bridge of his nose, the little spot where his hair starts. he hums each time, fingers drawing lazy circles on your back.
“temperature check complete,” you finally say, pulling back just enough to look at him. his cheeks are pink, eyes hazy but so full of you. “you’re definitely running a fever.”
“worth it,” he mumbles, chasing your forehead with his own until you give in and rest against him again. “i love when you do that. i love you.”
your heart flips. you kiss his burning skin one more time, slow and soft. “i love you too, sick boy. now let me get the thermometer and some water.”
“nooo,” he whines, holding you tighter. “five more minutes. just stay like this. your cold forehead fixes everything.”
you laugh quietly, helpless. “fine. five more minutes.”
he smiles against your skin, small and sleepy and so stupidly in love.
you stay forehead to forehead, breathing the same air, sharing warmth and quiet and everything else.
five minutes turns into twenty.
not like you mind at all.
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