𝙴𝚛𝚒𝚌 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚛 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ★ 𝙾𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ★

𝒮𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting warm beams across the living room as you lay curled up on the couch, cocooned in blankets. Your body ached, and your throat felt raw, every swallow a sharp reminder that you'd come down with something nasty. You had barely moved all morning, drained from the flu or whatever had taken hold of you.

From the kitchen, you could hear Eric moving around, the sound of cabinets opening and closing, along with the faint clang of a spoon against a mug. Even though you felt miserable, there was a strange comfort in knowing he was nearby, taking care of you.

A few moments later, you felt the couch dip as Eric sat next to you, the familiar warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a second blanket. "Hey, how are you feeling now?" he asked softly, his voice full of concern as his hand brushed against your forehead, checking for fever.

You groaned, eyes half-open. "Like I've been run over by a truck."

He smiled, though his eyes remained worried. "You look better than you sound," he teased, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple. "Here, I made you some tea. Chamomile, just how you like it."

You managed a weak smile, grateful for how attentive he was, even when you felt far from your best. "Thank you. You didn't have to make all this."

Eric rolled his eyes playfully, pushing the cup into your hands. "Come on, of course I did. It's my job as your very dedicated, very handsome boyfriend to nurse you back to health." He winked, and even in your sick haze, you felt a little flutter in your chest.

Sipping the warm tea, you watched him settle beside you, close enough that your legs brushed under the blanket. He'd been like this all morning—bringing you water, tucking the blankets around you, pressing his cool hands to your forehead every so often, making sure you were comfortable. It was more than you'd ever expect, but then again, that was Eric. He never did anything halfway.

"You should go to the studio," you said after a moment, voice hoarse from the cold. "I don't want to keep you here all day."

Eric shook his head firmly, his dark curls bouncing with the motion. "No way. I already called Paul and Gene, told them I'd be out today. You're way more important than recording right now." He reached for the remote, turning the volume down on the TV so the noise wouldn't bother you. "Besides, it's just a cold day in. We can catch up on bad daytime TV together."

You gave him a sleepy, grateful look, the warmth of the tea soothing your throat, but it was his care that really made you feel a little better. "You're too good to me, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, you deserve it," he replied with a grin, leaning back against the couch and pulling you closer into his side. "Plus, I gotta make sure you're back to normal soon so we can go out again. I miss our dates." His tone was light, but you could hear the sincerity beneath it.

As the day wore on, Eric stayed by your side, occasionally getting up to make sure you had everything you needed—fresh water, more tea, even some toast when you finally felt hungry enough to eat. He never once complained, even when you asked him to get up for the third time to grab your extra blanket from the bedroom. He was attentive, gentle, and seemed to know exactly when to crack a joke to lighten the mood.

By the afternoon, you were resting your head on his lap, your body stretched out across the couch. The sunlight had shifted, casting long shadows through the room, but the warmth still lingered. You felt a little better now, though the fatigue hadn't quite let up.

"Eric?" you mumbled, your voice softer now that the soreness in your throat had subsided a little.

"Yeah?" He glanced down, running his fingers gently through your hair, the action calming and soothing.

"Thanks for taking care of me."

He smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Always," he whispered. "I'm just glad you're feeling a little better. You had me worried there for a second."

You closed your eyes, feeling the steady rhythm of his fingers combing through your hair. The exhaustion was still heavy, but the weight of being sick seemed a little lighter with him here.

As you drifted off, the last thing you heard was his voice, a soft murmur above you. "Get some rest. I'll be right here when you wake up."

And with that, the warmth of his presence carried you into a deep, peaceful sleep, knowing that you were safe and loved in his care.