I hear a slight knock on my bedroom door, but it still pounded against my temples. Laying weakly on my bed, my head hurting like crazy, you groan, "Come in."
Darry walks in slowly, I notice how he was slightly smiling out of the corner of my eye. I melt at the sight of his grin, but I feel so horrible, I can't even acknowledge it. He asks, his voice laced with worry, "How are you feeling?"
"Terrible." I tried to say, but it didn't come out as anything but a whisper.
He comes over, sitting next to you on the bed, and stroking your forehead. He grabs the light blue blanket lying on the end of my bed and drapes it over me. "I'm gonna make you some soup, and maybe we can watch a movie."
"Darry," you say, trying to sit up. He just pushes your shoulders down, and you conform back into the softness of the bed, "you're supposed to be at work."
"I took off," he explains. I slightly cough while he continues, "you're sick."
"I don't need to be taken care of." I tell him, trying to get up again.
Again, he gently pushes me back down, "Nonsense, you can barely get up."
"'Cause you keep pushin' me down." I joke.
He chuckles slightly, and gets up, "I'll pick up some medicine."
"Darry," I reason, "you can't take off work. What about Soda and Pony? They need that money."
"It's a paid vacation day."
"Don't waste those on me."
"I want to Y/N." He says, sternly but surely. I tried to smile, but I was absolutely exhausted.
"Okay," I give up, "thank you."
"Of course baby." He tells me, coming back towards my bed. He kisses me lightly, pulling away slowly. I could tell he was kind of hurt that I was sick, which makes me feel warm inside. He cares so much for me, and I do to.
"Hurry back." I call quietly, as he closes the door behind him.
