You're sick with a fever and I've nothing else to do. Which is why I'm taking your temperature and trying to feed you soup. There is absolutely no other reason for me doing this. Absolutely none. More than the shuttering act of blinking, it is more like your eyes drift open and close.
You smile at me. You must be delirious. It is just a small, close-mouthed smile. Barely a curve of the lips but I am so satisfied with it that I almost wonder what I'm doing. At this moment, with you in a big holey black t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, I think you are the loveliest person I've ever seen. I put down the spoon when you fall asleep.
Trust your brother to forget to come home. My ride, and he is out at a LAN party with the rest of both of your friends. His phone is either off or dead and I cannot particularly bring myself to care. The clock ticking is the only sound in the room besides your delayed sighs of uncomfortable breath. It's nearly one in the morning and there is no way I'm stepping out to catch a bus in the rain.
Sudden harsh hacking comes from your side of the room and I jump. Your eyes are wrenched shut and your breath is heavy. I turn to go grab you a cup of water but your hand brushes my arm. The name that comes out of your mouth probably isn't mine. To be honest I can barely make out the letters, but I assume it's your ex-girlfriend. Your big hand fumbles until it can grasp something- my sleeve. You refuse to let go and I sit down on the floor, arm elevated onto your bed.
I fall asleep before long, glass of water forgotten and the name you called for lingering.
The clock continues to tick. Loudly the door to your bedroom opens and I jolt awake. I didn't mean to fall asleep- I never do. It just happens. Ropes of sun wiggle through the blinds of your dark room, and it's early morning but I can't make out the time with my newly-woken eyes.
Your brother is leaning over us.
"Morning," he says sheepishly. His hair is properly tousled and he looks a little drunk. I glare at him and turn back to press my face into the covers. My arm is asleep and it slides down to meet the floor. As I hear your brother leave the room, presumably to crash in his own bed, I look up a bit to find you staring at me.
Your grin is so big that your eyes turn into crescents and I dig my face back into the side of your bed before it threatens to burst into flames. Jesus, help me. Your hand is still hot as ever as it brushes over my hair. Content. That's the only way to explain how this feeling is. At this moment I am content, and that's all there is to it.