#rumi writes

He steps into his en suite and washes his face and brushes his teeth, he scratches at the hair on his chin. Hm. The cold water is a relief against his forehead. He spots the person behind him through the mirror and breaks out into a wide grin.

"John!"

He remembers, now, that they had made plans for the next two days.

He sniffles and follows John out to where he's made toast and scrambled eggs.

It's delicious, but the taste falls a little flat on how dry and scrunchy his tongue feels. Miserable. John must notice though, with how he inclines his head and makes a benign comment about his cooking. He huffs a laugh and makes a show of shovelling egg into his mouth, over exaggerated "Mm, so yummy." even when it's worse when he swallows and he can feel where exactly his sinuses are.

It gets worse after he finishes eating. His eyes can't focus on the tweet John shows him and he has to bring the phone closer to even read it.

"Alright, that's enough. Something's wrong." John says. He thinks it's pretty obvious though, the way he's burning up and how everything hurts even when he's just sitting here. Looking at this screen. He shuts his eyes tightly when John hauls him up, his vision warbling, forehead scrunching, mouth twisted with a grimace.

"Augh." He falls sideways onto his bed. The side of his knee hits the frame of his bed and it embeds into his skin strangely. "Hurts, dude."

John doesn't seem to have any sympathy for his situation and taps the dip in his side, he rolls himself until he's on the bed and turns to look up at John.

"Sorry, we were gonna do stuff," John ignores this and pulls his duvet from under him and straightens it, "I had this whole thing planned too." The blanket gets draped over him and John tucks the sides in tightly.

"Well, maybe if you didn't catch a cold we could do it. Do you have nyquil?" He doesn't. John goes and gets a glass of water and stares down at him as he tries to wiggle an arm out to accept it.

"Ohh, water. I could kiss you right now." He lifts himself so he doesn't spill and gulps it down. His throat hot and hurting, the pressure in his head gets a little better. John purses his lips and leans down to bring the back of his hand to his sweaty forehead.

"Dude, you might have a fever. You're burning up!" He straightens and leaves the bedroom.

"John, wait!" He says, though it's too late, he can hear him in the kitchen. He sighs and puts his glass down, settling back into his mattress and drawing the blanket up to his nose. His head pounds in time with his heart, a steady but quick pace. He nods off a bit, impossibly warm and wanting to escape the beat.

He wakes with a damp cloth on his forehead and his glass refilled. It's quiet. He closes his eyes and breathes, he won't be able to go back to sleep immediately. He feels a little more rested. He gropes around for the glass before just opening his eyes again. He takes a few sips and then checks his phone.

John: 'getting nyquil'

The notification sits at the top of the list on his lock screen. He puts down his glass and scoots back under his covers. He closes his eyes again and drifts. He imagines soft touches in his hair, and fingers against his skin.

The sound of his keys clinking onto his kitchen counter brings him back to alertness, he watches John saunter in with a small box and another glass of water.