Michael Clifford Imagines

Taking care of you

Taking care of you-Michael Clifford Imagine

By: fivesecondsofanfiction

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"What happened here?" Michael asked when he found you sprawled out on the couch, surrounded by tissues. You poked your head from underneath the blanket and looked up at him. His eyes immediately turned from shock to worry.

"Oww babe, you look poorly! Are you alright? What happened?" his voice was full of concern and certain tenderness you've never heard before.

"I don't know, I just feel so cold, and now hot and then again cold," you mumbled, your voice weak.

He sat down next to you and put his hand on your forehead.

"Aye girl, you're hot!" and when you looked at him from underneath your lashes he added: "In every sense."

The romantic moment was broken off by your furious coughing. Michael winced and jumped off the couch, running into the kitchen. You sniffled and rubbed your nose, waiting for him to return. You heard him before you could see him. He arrived with a lot of clatter and just before he reached you he slipped on one of your tissues, barely managing to keep the cup from spilling.

"There you go, I know it's not your favourite flavour, but this one is good for a cold," he offered you your favourite tea cup, and when you wrapped your hands around it, he covered them with his, doubling on the heat coming from the cup. You thanked him with your eyes and sipped slowly. Every time your head bowed down to take a sip, your hair fell into your eyes and he brushed it away with the back of his hand. Finally, when you gave him an are-you-really–going-to-do-this-every-time look he stood up and darted into the bathroom. He returned with a victorious look and a raised hand. You had to squint your eyes to make sense of what he was holding. There were several bobby pins and as he was back at your side, he got down on his knees, took every strand of your hair, gently pinning it on the top of your head. When he was done he smiled proudly and you rolled your eyes.

"I look like a clown, don't I?" you groaned, your voice hoarse.

He pecked you on the lips.

"No you look beautiful, as always!" he exclaimed, touching the tip of your nose with his index finger. You grimaced and took his hand.

"Don't kiss me! You're going to get infected as well!" you scolded him, worried he would lose his god-like voice.

"I don't care, I'm going to kiss you whenever I want to. Nothing can stop me!" he played a hero, which was again ruined by your terrible coughing. He took the cup from your hands and pulled you into his warm embrace. You head settled perfectly into the crook of his neck, his arms brushing up and down your back. You sniffled and he offered you a tissue. He moved away so you could clean your nose.

"I'm going to go to the pharmacy and then get you something to eat, yeah?" he offered already putting his shoes on.

"Noo, Michael. You really don't have to," you protested, knowing he had already had a tough day running around the interviews and signings. But before you could even finish your sentence, he was already out the door.

Despite wanting to wait up for Michael to return, you drifted off into a restless sleep. When you woke up, Michael's head was resting on your arm, his back pressed against the couch and his long legs stretched about the floor. His eyelids fluttered to life, when you tried to stifle a cough. He shook his head and brought both of his hands up in the air.

"Look what I got you!" he said with a sleepy voice. One of his hands was clenching around a lovely bouquet, while the other offered you some cough medicine. You pouted and took hold of both, trying to smell the flowers, but not being able to due to your filled up nose.

"They smell amazing, believe me," he smiled and picked you up bridal style.

"I wanted to carry you to bed as soon as I got back, but I didn't want to wake you," he explained while he walked to your bed, tucking you in.

He hurried out leaving you alone to battle with your cough medicine. You took a deep breath and drank it.

"Fuck! Fucking hell! Damn!" you heard from the kitchen and soon you saw why. Michael brought you soup and you could see his fingers were slightly burnt from not being careful enough.

"Thank you, love," you mumbled as he helped you eat the soup.

"Do you need anything else? Would you like more pillows or blankets or tea or anything?" he blurted out desperately, his brow frowning into one worried line.

"Noo, you've done more than enough. Right now all I want to do is sleep and have you next to me," you whispered, your eyes already heavy with sleep.

"I'm not going anywhere," he hushed into your ear, snuggling next to you. He let your head rest on his torso, his hand trailing up and down your spine.

"But I'm so sticky," you argued, your words already sluggish from tiredness.

"I make you sticky in bed all the time and I love it," he answered and you could hear a smirk in his voice.

"Thank you," you breathed, but you weren't sure if the words managed to leave your mouth before your eyelids closed, taking you away.