Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

✿fever✿

I will at some point get to all your requests, but I just had surgery so I'm not writing a ton!

Your POV

I roll over in bed and try to stifle a groan. I check the time on my alarm clock: 3:21 am. Great.

I had a headache and I wasn't feeling great when I went to bed, but now I'm sure that I'm sick. I'm extremely cold, even though I pulled most of the covers over me, my head hurts, and I feel terrible.

Suddenly, a horrible feeling kicks in and I know I'm going to throw up. I get out of bed as quickly as I can, stumbling through the dark and my own dizziness, and make it into the bathroom just in time. I didn't even have a chance to turn the light on.

I try to be quiet so that I don't wake up Timmy, but I fail miserably. I realize that he's there when the light flicks on.

"Oh no, are you okay?" he asks, sinking down next to me. He rubs his sleepy eyes and pulls his messy curls behind his ears.

"No, ew. Go away. I'm seriously fine, I don't want you to see me like this," I say, panting heavily.

"Y/N, I'm not just going to leave you here. I want to help," he says. I start puking again, and can't answer him. I feel him pull my hair away from my face and run his fingers through it, trying to make me feel better.

I groan and start to stand when I'm finished, flushing the toilet. I don't like that he saw all of that, but I always stick next to him when he's sick.

"It's okay," Timmy says, reassuring me and helping me get up. I'm usually very independent and happy to take care of myself, but when I'm feeling like this I love it when he smothers me. I smile weakly at him before reaching for my toothbrush and quickly rinsing my mouth.

I start to walk out of the bathroom, but he stops me.

"Wait," he says. I turn to face him.

He puts the back of his hand against my forehead and exhales in disappointment, a small look of concern painting his features.

"You're hot," he says, moving his hand away from me.

"Well thank you," I say with a grin.

He rolls his eyes and gives me a small smile.

"You must be really disoriented. Come on," he says. He pulls me out of the bathroom, shutting the light off, and into the hallway where our medicine cabinet is. He flicks the light on and looks around, searching for the right thing.

"Here," he says. He uncaps a pill bottle and shakes a few into his hand, giving them to me.

"But I don't have any water," I whine. I hate swallowing pills.

"Okay, I'll get you some water. Just wait here," he says. He kisses my forehead before walking to the kitchen. Smothered.

He comes back with a glass of water a moment later, and I take the two pills before walking back to our room.

"Let's get you changed," he says. I grimace when he turns the lights on. He walks into our closet and comes out with one of my sweatshirts and some sweatpants.

"Can't I wear yours?" I ask, sitting shakily on the edge of the bed.

"Of course," he says patiently. I take my sweatpants and pull them on while he goes back to the closet, putting my sweatshirt back and trading it for the classic pink Glossier one. I tug the shirt I'm wearing off and pull his sweatshirt on before laying back in bed.

He turns the lights back off and crawls in next to me, pulling all of the blankets over me.

"Are you warm enough?" he asks.