🎀 Oct. Fluff Short [M] 🎀

Since so many people are sick at the moment (me included) thought it was about time one of the RO's were as well. Word Count : 2485

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The stack of boxes in your hand shakes, shifting as you apply more weight into your left leg as you fumble for your keys in the pocket of your right. You eye them carefully, ensuring that they won’t decide to fall off and onto the ground.

Only one box mattered, and it was the one that you were grasping tightly at the bottom. A limited-edition action figure that M had spent six months debating on purchasing, only to forget upon release. Luckily for them, and you, you had decided to order it as a gift for their upcoming novel release.

To say the amount they had nestled away in their spare room, along with the bookshelves displaying various manga's floored you, is an understatement. But you noticed early on in your relationship it was something they enjoyed.

It made buying them gifts easy, but also harder. You never knew if M’s mothers would purchase something for them, or if their aunt Mira would. Yes, that Mira. The Mira who sold you coffee throughout Uni, the same Mira who mixed up your order with M’s just so the two of you would talk to one another. Mira, who had someone deliver you breakfast, lunch, and dinner from the café the past month while M has been gone.

But you made damn sure in the group chat, one excluding M, that no one was going to purchase this but you. You called dibs as soon as the page went live, beating out scalpers, and getting your hands on number 24 out of 50 that were to be sold. If this didn’t win you your partner points when they got back from their book tour, you weren’t sure what would. You finally wrestle out the keys, unlocking the door to the apartment and kicking it open with your foot.

The darkness of the apartment was nothing new. M tended to keep it dark, using lamps more than the overhead. They were intent on keeping their apartment looking cozy if you ignore the stack of papers on their desk and the box of Pocky half-eaten near their keyboard. You couldn’t forget the storage boxes stuffed under their couch, that lie hidden by a blanket.

Their current book tour doesn’t wrap up for a few more days, meaning you still have some time to wrap up their gift until they return.

Once you step into the apartment, you could immediately tell something was off. The humidifier was droning on in the corner, and string lights were softly glowing, illuminating the shelves on the upper part of the wall near plants that M continues to purchase, no matter how many times they’d proven to not possess a green thumb.

That’s it.

You had turned the humidifier off before you left for work this morning, it’s after you set the boxes down on the counter and begin to make your way slowly through the apartment, ears perked up for any sign of someone within, that you notice a familiar smell.

A sharp cough comes from the bedroom. “Who’s there?” You yell back towards the room, only to be met with another round of coughing.

Opening the door to the bedroom is when the menthol smell truly hits you. It was M’s mother’s favorite for when either of you was sick. You learned that the hard way several months after you began dating. Both of you were bedridden with a nasty cold, only to be nursed by M’s mom and Mira. Of course, Cam showed up, but he was quickly ushered away in fear of also getting sick.

“Hey…cough…hey don’t come in.”

You dodge to the side at the sight of a box of tissues being tossed your way. Though the toss is a bit dramatic, they barely make it from M’s hand to the bottom of the bed.

Their usual warm-toned skin is more muted and ashen. The dark under eyes you’ve come to acquaint with late nights are more pronounced.

A cough begins to build in their chest, causing them to thump their hand against it. Whatever they’ve caught, it seems to have done a number on them. Especially if you consider they didn’t even call to tell you they would be home early.

Without thinking, you make your way over to bed, helping M to sit up as they continue coughing. M shoots you an appreciative glance as you begin to hit their back.

“Th-thank you.” They mutter, taking a deep breath of air.

“When did you get back?.”

M slowly scoots over in the bed, allowing you to sit beside them. Strands of their hair stick to their forehead, covered by an oversized hoodie.

You’ve seen M wear it before since the two of you got matching hoodies on one of your earlier dates. Yet it still brings a smile to your face, your hoodie resting in the drawer of your dresser.

They pull the blanket closer to them, tucking it under their chin as they shake. “I’ve been back an hour. Not going to lie, not seeing you when I walked in was what did me in.” M attempts to give you an impish smile, one that quickly falls once you elbow them, only to be met by a strained cough.

As you lean in to rub their back, you place your other hand on their forehead, frowning at the warmth radiating from their skin. “You’re hot.”

The slightest tinge of color floods their cheeks. “You-you think so? Even though I’m sick?”

“No –”

M’s lips pull down into a frown. You really need to help them learn to do a poker face or Ardent is going to eat them up when it comes time for the annual poker game.

“No, you are, but I didn’t mean it in that way. You’re sick Mar. You have a fever.” Standing quickly, you tuck the blanket around them as you go to the bathroom to find a thermometer.

Normally Mira bargains with M to get their temperature checked, you’re hoping it won’t be as difficult for you. “Say ah,” you say, holding the thermometer out to stick into their mouth.

M’s jaw tenses, eyeing the device like it is their enemy. You never quite understood why they hated it so much, something about foreign objects inside their body. You have yet to find out what movie scared them from thermometers. Not that you were eager to find out.

“For me?” You plead, leaning closer with one hand, boxing them in so they can’t scoot farther away. “Can you do it for me, M, please?”

“You play dirty.” They mutter, arms crossing over their chest.

You wiggle your brows at them, leaning your face closer. “Open your mouth for me, and I’ll give you a present.”

They want to remain strong, but either their cold or their curiosity causes them to fold, lips opening slowly as they try not to meet your gaze.

“That’s my good Marshmallow.” You ruffle their hair as you press the thermometer into their mouth, ensuring they clamp down.

Once the thermometer beeps, M hands it to you. Rubbing the tip of their tongue as they try to rid themselves of the metallic taste left behind.

“M!” you yell, showing them the temperature reading. “Don’t you dare get out of that bed, unless it to go to the bathroom.”

You quickly fetch water and fever medicine from the kitchen. Beckoning them to sip, which they do so gladly. Downing the water with such speed you offer another glass. “Why didn’t tell me you weren’t feeling well sooner?”

M shakes their head weakly. The strength required to keep their eyes open must be too much as they flutter closed as they reach for your hand.

Their fingers tremble slightly, just like the rest of them, as they grab hold and tilt their head into the coolness of your palm, sighing in relief. “I didn’t want you to worry…”

There’s an ache in your chest as they smile at you weakly, long lashes fanning over their cheeks. A tender smile pulls at your lips. The time apart was bearable, only due to knowing they would be coming home to you. But the sight of them, weak and ready to fall asleep at a moment's notice, causes you to want to tell their manager off for not ending the tour sooner.

“I think it’s a little late for that,” you reply as you brush a stray strand of hair from their fevered face with your free hand.

Their skin somehow feels even hotter than before. Your fingers linger, your fingertips tracing the curve of their cheek with quiet care. The contrast of your cool palm against M’s fevered skin is many things, comforting and pleasurable. A touch from a partner they haven’t gotten to physically touch in over a month, a reminder that they had someone to come home to, and soothing because of their sickened state.

M inhales sharply, a tremble running through their body. Those warm eyes that were watching you with adoration flutter shut, and a soft, stuttering sigh escape their lips–a sigh filled with both pleasure and relief.

They lean into your touch instinctively, seeking more of that soothing chill. You allow your hand to drift from their jaw to the side of their neck and then behind it, your fingers smoothing away hair that clings to their neck, and causing M’s breath to catch again. A low, grateful murmur slips from them as they press closer to your hand. The tension in their brow eases gently.

You had hoped to take them out to dinner to commemorate their achievement when they returned, and finally surprise them with the action figure.

 I guess it has to wait.

M turns your hand over gently, placing a soft kiss on the sensitive skin marking your wrist. “Since I can’t kiss you.” They whisper, almost a whine.

“You could – “

M shoots you a glare, as much of one as they can manage when their eyes are so heavy. “No, I don’t want you getting sick.”

It’s hard not to giggle when M takes on an authoritative tone. It’s happened before. Especially when M is trying to protect you, from a fan who has gotten too close when you’re at book signings, to someone trying to ask you out at the fair. You could never imagine someone who looks so comforting, could be so protective.

“No kiss then.”

Though they had been the first to say no to a kiss, they’re now the one to pout. It seems they just can’t make up their mind.

You kick off your shoes, pulling the white comforter up to slide under., and press yourself against them. As soon as you slip under the covers, M yelps.

“Ah! Y-y-your feet are c-cold!” they exclaim, shivering with exaggerated dismay, despite the fever.

A surprised laughter escapes you before you can hold it back, the sudden sound catching both of you off guard.

You cover your mouth, shoulders shaking with amusement as you try to stifle more giggles. “I–I’m sorry!” you manage to say between laughs, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, it’s just-” another snicker slips out–“your face when you said that.”

M glares half-heartedly, but they too can’t help but crack a small smile, despite the situation.

You wiggle your toes against their calf, wrapping an arm around M’s waist and pulling them close. “I’ll warm up soon enough.”

M grumbles something incoherent, but despite the brief protest, they nestle closer, resting their head against your chest. The sound of your heartbeat and the gentle rubbing of your hand on their back seem to soothe them. The tension of their body melts away in your embrace, as they shift slightly, seeking the comfort only you can provide.

“I missed you.” They murmur, breath warm against your skin.

Leaning your face, you press a soft gentle kiss on their forehead. “I missed you too.”

A flicker of a smile falls on their face as they press it against the crook of your neck, their lips achingly close yet too far. “About that present.” They whisper, nuzzling their nose against the side of your neck.

“I didn’t mean that. Besides, you’re too sick to enjoy that now.”

M sputters, the sound turning into a ragged cough. “Y-you underestimate me, love.”

"I promise, when you're feeling better I'll ravish you anywhere you want."

M shakes their head, their hair shifting against your neck as if you're being tickled.

"Oh, well if you don't want to then-"

"I-I want to!" They squeak out, lifting their head to look at you. Warm brown eyes wide, and smooth cheeks flushed with a nice pink hue.

"For now, just rest." Despite their protest, you place a soft kiss on M's lips. You allow your lips to linger, how could you not when they had been gone so long. There's a heat to their lips, one that will fade away once the medicine kicks in. Eventually, you pull away, but not before admiring the way M's eyes cling to your lips.

You cuddle together, arms encircling one another and legs intertwined. Eventually falling into a peaceful silence, only broken by M’s occasional coughing. Their breath becomes slow and steady as sleep finally claims them.

You can’t help but hold them a little tighter, listening to the sound of their breathing. Their hand tangled into the fabric of your shirt. Holding on so you can't slip away. They look peaceful as they fall into a deep sleep, and your heart swells with relief. “I’ve got you.”

Your eyes fall to their luggage resting against a dresser, a dresser full of your clothes and M’s. Your daily necessities litter their apartment. There’s a piece of you everywhere you look. From your favorite mug in the kitchen to your bath products in the shower, to your sweatshirt from Uni that M wears when they’re working through a draft.

It all happened so naturally, there was no pressure on what your relationship was or what it became. There was no pressure for the milestones in your relationship, one of those being sharing a bed together. Something that would fluster M so much early on that you would wake up only to find they never drifted off to sleep. Or when they had nestled themselves in the chair in the room because they didn’t want to leave you but were too nervous to fall asleep.

M’s leg tangles itself into your own. Their body tightly pressed against you as they nuzzle their head against your chest. They mutter so softly you must lean towards them to hear the word, and once you do, you can feel your heart bloom with affection. Love. “Mine.”

If M was going to be this sweet in their sleep…. maybe you didn’t need to wrap their gift after all.