Calum: "Hey babe, i’m here! Are you ready to go the gallery opening? Kaylia has been talking about it for ages now, i’m so…. Oh my god, what HAPPENED to you?" you gasp, entering Calum’s bedroom. He is draped on the bed like a dead fish, ghostly pale and lacking any sort of energy or happiness. "Nothing, nothing. Just a little cold. I’m ready, let’s go" he reassures you, propping himself up and trying to get out of bed, moving slowly and painfully awkward, like every muscle in his body hurt. "Babe, you’re sick, you can’t go out like this" you tell him, sitting next to him, stroking his back for comfort. "No, I’m fine! I promised you i’d go to your friend’s thing, I know it’s important to you…" he insists, trying again to lift himself off the bed, but you push him back down. Always trying to be the hero and pleasing everyone else, that’s Calum. "She’ll understand. Let’s face it, we would have been bored anyway. Lie back down, i’m going to make you some tea" you tell him, planting a sweet little kiss on his cheek. He always takes such good care of you, it’s time to return the favour. "Thanks babe" he sighs, relief flooding his face, as he sacks back down onto the mattress. You spend the rest of the day with Calum in bed, watching youtube videos to try and make him laugh. He starts to feel better by the end of the day.
Michael: "Michael, are you ok? You haven’t touched your food!" you ask with concern, observing your boyfriend’s miserable face. "I don’t know, I feel weird" he says, resting his head in his hands. You walk over to him, feeling his forehead. "Babe, you’re burning up! I think you’re coming down with something!" you conclude. "Maybe you should go then, i don’t want you catching anything from me" he comments, looking so pathetic and weak, it makes yo go all soft and gooey. Your protective instincts kick in, the overpowering urge to take care of your boyfriend settling over you. "I don’t think so! You need to get into bed, come on" you dictate, pulling him up and almost having to drag him to the bedroom. Michael is like a fussy toddler, not able to decide whether he is hot or cold, whether he wants a warm drink or a cool icepack for his forehead and not being able to find a comfortable position to lie in. You have tried to keep a distance so the germs can’t infect you, but you feel so sorry for him, you climb into bed with him and put your arms around him. It works like magic. No sooner have you settled him in your embrace, is he passed out and asleep. It’s worth the risk getting sick to know he is comfortable and getting better, you think, smiling whilst holding him tightly to your body.
Luke: "Luke? Babe? It’s me! I come bearing those pastries you like!" you call out, entering the Hemmings house. You hear retching from one of the bathrooms, alarming you. You run to see what is going on, to find Luke positioned over the toilet bowl, throwing up, a greenish colour to his face. "Luke! What happened?" you gasp. "I think I got food poisoning from that sushi I ate at the gas station" he groans, his voice thick and scratchy. "You ate sushi from a gas station? Honestly Luke, how stupid can you be?" you chastise him, but kneeling down next to him nevertheless, rubbing his back as he barfs some more. You help him clean himself up after he has finished and help him back onto the couch. His skin is papery white and he is shivering. He looks so fragile and weak, it breaks your heart a little. "Can I get you anything? Some water maybe?" you ask. He shakes his head. "Will you just sit with me?" he pleads, his eyes big and watery and extremely overpowering. You sit on the couch, putting his head in your lap, stroking his hair, running it through your fingers soothingly while he watches cartoons. He finally dozes off, looking like a little angel whilst he sleeps. "My poor baby" you mutter, caressing his soft cheek. "Don’t worry, i’ll take care of you."
Ashton: "Ew, don’t throw your gross, germ infected tissue at me, you pig!" you squeal, flicking Ashton’s used tissue off your lap. He grins, which makes you happy because it’s the first time he’s smiled in the last 24 hours. He has a bad cold and he’s been battling it for three days already now. Looks like he’s finally getting a bit better. "Can you bring me some juice?" he asks with his croacky, nasal voice. You have to bite your tongue to not laugh at how funny he sounds with his blocked nose and raw throat, poor thing. You get up, returning with some apple juice and a box of chocolates. "Oh, you’re amazing. Give me" he beams, stretching out his hands for the chocolate. "What? No, these are for me! You still have to eat your chicken soup. No dinner, no dessert" you tell him smugly, popping a praline into your mouth. he watches you with a pout. "But i don’t want it" he complains, sounding about five ears old, matching to his maturity level. You raise your eyebrows, taking another piece of chocolate and chewing loudly on it. He rolls his eyes, sighing, while taking the bowl of soup of his night stand and hesitantly eating three spoonfuls. "Happy?" he asks. You pretend to ponder if this was satisfactory, but give in to him pleading, puppy dog look, placing a chocolate chunk in his mouth, which he munches happily."Hey! i can actually taste this!" he announces in fascination, his eyes lighting up at his re-discovered sense of taste. "Glad you see you’re feeling better" you smile, sweeping hair out of his eyes. "Thanks for being here for me, babe" he smiles. "Anytime, Ash" you smile back, snuggling into his chest, eating chocolates together
