Tom Holland Imagines

Tom Holland : Flu

credit; http://lamptracker.tumblr.com/post/163830606228/i-did-a-thing

Tom is coming to visit you, but you've come down with the flu.

It's the middle of the afternoon on a beautiful Wednesday. The sun is shining. There's a slight breeze in the air, and it's warm but not too hot. The birds are chirping. And you are dying.

Maybe that's a little melodramatic. You feel like you're dying. Your head is pounding, your stomach is spinning, and your throat is on fire.

Everyone at work has been passing around a nasty flu virus. You had managed to avoid it because, look at you, you got your flu shot! But then you found out that the strain of the flu going around was different than what the flu shot was supposed to prevent. Within a matter of days, you were its next victim.

Its timing could not have been worse, either. Tom has a two-week break, and is flying in today. You woke up sicker than a dog this morning so you've barely been conscious enough to let him know he might want to get an Uber. You decide you're going to send him a quick text, but as soon as you grab the phone you feel the urge to throw up. You run as quickly as you can to the bathroom, slumping onto the couch when you're done. You close your eyes, and your phone rings just as you're about to accidentally fall asleep.

"Hi," you grumble into the phone.

"Hello, love." You can't help but smile a little at the sound of his voice. "My flight lands in about an hour. You're still coming to get me, yeah?"

You groan. "I was just getting ready to text you." Sort of. "I finally caught that flu that was going around. May want to rent a hotel for a couple of days, I don't want you getting sick."

"Oh, I'm so sorry you're sick, love," Tom replies. "I'll call an Uber and then I have to make a quick stop, but I will be there. You get some rest, baby."

"But..." you protest weakly.

"Absolutely not. I'll see you in a couple of hours. I still have that spare key so don't feel like you can't nap. I love you."

"Love you too." Ordinarily you would argue, but you are just not up to it right now. So you sprawl out onto the couch and fall asleep.

You wake up a few hours later because you have to pee. You slowly stumble into the bathroom, take care of your business, and wander back to the couch. On your way back, Tom comes out of the kitchen.

"Oh, hello, darling. You're awake. How're you feeling?"

"Awful." You gingerly settle onto the couch. "I haven't felt this terrible in years. Are you sure you want to -"

"Yes. Now go ahead and get settled." He runs into the kitchen and comes back with a glass. "I brought you some ginger ale. That always helps me."

"Thanks." You take the cup from him and carefully sip it. "I could use some Tylenol. My head kills."

He opens a nearby white bottle and shakes two small pills out of it. "Here you go," he says, handing you the pills. You nod slowly and pop them in your mouth, chasing them with a sip of ginger ale.

"Oh, Tom," you say, "I don't want you to feel like you have to take care of me."

He smiles. "Well, it's a good thing I'm not doing this because I have to. I want to. I want to help my girl feel better. And if I get sick in the process, then I get sick in the process. It'll be worth it." He gently kisses your forehead. "Oi, you're burning up. I guess it's a good thing you just took that Tylenol."

You smile a tiny, tiny smile as you sprawl out onto the couch. He spreads a blanket over you as you drift off to sleep.

You wake up another couple of hours later. Your head is in Tom's lap. He's playing on his phone.

"Hey, baby." You murmur.

"Well hello, sleepyhead." He bends down to kiss your forehead. "Feels like your fever broke. How you feeling now?"

"Better." You smile. "Still super tired but I'm way less nauseous. Thank you so much. I couldn't have asked for a better nurse. But you're going to get sick though, I just know it."

Tom shrugs. "Eh. Even if I do, I know you'll nurse me back to health."

"I love you so much, Tom." You kiss his hand, because it's the first available body part and you're still too weak to sit up.

"I love you too." He runs his fingers through your hair. "Want to lay down in bed?"

"That'd be great."

He stands up, gingerly removing your head from his lap, and carefully picks you up. You rest your weary head on his shoulder as he cradles you and carries you toward the bedroom.

Tom gently sets you on the bed, and covers you with a blanket. He starts to leave the room.

"Uh. Where do you think you're going?" You mumble. "Come lay down with me."

"I will in a moment, love," he replies. "Just need to get a few things."

You just lay there, wondering exactly what cards you played to win this man. This beautiful, gentle soul who adores you even when you're feeling like death. And you absolutely adore him.

You decide that, when he inevitably gets sick, you're going to take care of him the way he's taking care of you.

"Okay. I got a bucket in case you need to...you know. I have some ginger ale, some soda crackers. I picked up a couple of trashy magazines at the airport. I love reading those when I'm sick, dunno why. My mum started that, I think. Grabbed my phone. I see yours is on the charger already. What else, um... oh, right. You need the big spoon." He strips down to his boxers and climbs in bed with you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you snuggle into him.

"What'd I do to deserve you?" You ask as he kisses the back of your neck.

"I ask myself what I did to deserve you every day." He finds your hand and gently strokes your thumb with his. "Now get some rest, love."

Despite the fact that you're sick, you feel happy and safe with Tom's arms wrapped around you.

"I love you," you mutter as you fade into sleep.

"And I love you."