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— BREAKFAST IN BED
The sun shined brightly through the cracks in the curtains, causing your eyes to flutter open. Groaning in annoyance, a grimace washes over your features. With a glance to your soundly sleeping boyfriend, Oliver Moy, your previously annoyed state is replaced with a small smile.
He laid on his side, mouth hanging agape as he breathed heavily through his open mouth. His nose had been blocked for days, a silent testament to his peaceful appearance.
Carefully, you slid out of the bed, trying your absolute best to prevent disturbing his sleep. Admittedly, it was relieving that his illness had made him incredibly tired, seeing him take good rest was a sight often brushed off.
You gently draped the duvet back over his bare shoulder, feeling the tingle of warmth radiating off him, sending a warm jolt up your body through the fingertips.
After slipping on your slippers, you grabbed your dressing gown which had been hanging on the closet door. A soft sigh exits your lip at the warmth the fabric provides. You exited the room, sighing softly as you run your fingers through your hair.
It had been approximately a week since Oliver came down with this illness, and sadly, his condition had only worsened over that week. He had missed countless film days at the NSB household, taking refuge at your house to avoid spreading his sickness to his members.
Although Oliver no doubtably loved spending time with you, guilt gnawed at his conscious the longer he was away from filming. The supportive messages sent from the stars often mingled with harsh criticism which left him feeling vulnerable.
You never understood the hate directed at him for something so beyond his control, but seemingly, not amount of encouragement could uplift his self-perception.
Reaching the kitchen, a yawn escapes your lips. The sun cascaded through the windows, illuminating the room in a gentle yellow glow, pausing to admire the view outside, you knew if Oliver were awake right now he'd be snapping countless photos of you.
Opening the fridge, you pulled a couple eggs and hummed to yourself softly as you cracked them into a pan. You cooked them until done how he liked them, preparing other things like toast.
Climbing back up the countless stairs to the bedroom, you peeked your head into the bedroom. Oliver was still asleep. You stepped into the room fully.
