First Day of My Life

Chapter 13

I woke up at the sound of the birds chirping outside my window, a cold breeze of air in my hair, moving a stray of it to my face. The sun was reflecting against my face, right into my eyelid. I huffed quietly, and turned myself a bit, hiding my face into his neck. His warm hand moved up to my face, pushing away the hair that had fallen there. I felt his chest and shoulders shaking in his quiet airy laugh, eyes definitely observing me.

"Morning sleepyhead," he said quietly—the nickname was a normal part of my morning by then. He always managed to wake up before me.

"Good morning," I mumbled, leaving some drool onto his neck by accident. "What's the time?" I asked the same way.

"Ten past ten."

"Mhh," I said, turning my head a bit and opening my eyes to glare at the opened window and the half-opened curtains.

"We needed fresh oxygen is what dad told me," he smirked, making me frown again as my head moved again, meeting his eyes.

"He was here? Fuck. What did you tell him?"

"That we were both sick."

I raised my eyebrows tiredly. "And he believed that? What happened with the plan to sleep alone tonight and make sure it would actually be credible?"

"Well, you kind of fell asleep here last night, so... And you actually have a fever so, it wasn't hard to make him believe that."

I frowned at the last statement and moved my hand from his chest to my head, touching it. "No, I don't."

"Yes, you do." He lifted the duvet up a bit, making me shiver as I looked at my wet shirt. I whined quietly, pulling the covers back down, and cuddled more into him. "Aw, are you one of those who likes to just stay in bed and snuggle when they're sick?" he asked softly and kissed my forehead.

"Probably," I murmured.

"I'm hungry," he sighed but didn't say anything about leaving. His hand kept moving against my hair, cradling my head as every night. I sighed against his shoulder and moved my face back into his neck, needing to be closer to him. "Baby?"

"Hm?"

"Do you want anything to eat?"

"No."

"Can I go and make myself something?"

"No."

He sighed, turning onto his side from the previous lying-on-the-back position. "Can you look at me?"

"No."

He chuckled at that and I smiled too but moved my head out as he asked for. Our noses were already touching, so it was just a casual short kiss that he gave me, but it still made both of us grin afterward. "I'm gonna make myself sandwiches and I'll make some broth or something," he said.

I sighed. "I really don't want to eat, Jug. I feel like I'm gonna throw up all the crap we ate yesterday."

"That's why you need soup," he said, planting a kiss onto my nose before gently untangling me from his body and getting up.

"I'm cold," I whined.

He grabbed his sweatshirt and handed it to me, helping me sit up slowly. "You even look sick," he said. I rolled my eyes at that tiredly and let him help with the sweatshirt. Once it was on, he lied me back down and caressed my cheek with his thumb as he sat on the edge of the bed. "You look cute," he said softly.

I smiled tiredly, pulling his side of the duvet into my arms to hug something. He leaned down, kissed my forehead, and then got up and left the room. This was so unfair. We were supposed to pretend to be sick not actually be sick. Ugh.