The vamps preferences (PERSONAL IMAGINES OPEN)

Sick on valentines day (Brad)

(Y/N's) POV
Finally! After a long day pretending to be interested in customers' stories about why they're returning said pyjamas or shoes, it was time to go home and recover from a long day working in retail. But it wasn't all bad though, I was eternally grateful to be able to go home and rejoice in the arms of my boyfriend who is so beautiful it physically hurts. It was Valentine's Day, which meant one thing, I was probably meant to make an effort and get dressed up instead of getting into my pjs as soon as I got home, just to eat dinner at the table with brad as I do most evenings. But that's society for yall. Comfy clothes or not, I was so looking forward to seeing brad after a busy week of us both working.

Brad's POV
Shit. I mustered up the post-nap strength to grab my phone from the bedside table to check the time; 6:30pm. I had gotten home from the studio at around 1:30pm after being sent home early by the boys, because clearly I looked as shit as I felt. My head thudded with a dull aching pain and I was so sick of having to wipe my bastard nose every four seconds. I'd hoped that a nap might make me feel well enough to convince (Y/N) that I was well enough to get into the commercialised- Valentine's Day spirit. But unfortunately I was wrong. If anything I felt like I'd been hit by a tour bus an additional 38 times. Great. On top of all the flu-like symptoms overtaking my body, I could already picture the  hidden disappointment in (Y/N'S) eyes as she realised our Valentine's Day celebrations were going to be just as shit as last year. But that was a story for another time. I knew she'd be home in half an hour and I was going to do everything I could to ignore how awful I felt to make tonight as special as I could for her, because she deserved it. I took a quick shower and actually put on an outfit that didn't consist of sweatpants and no shirt and actually did consist of a shirt and trousers; really pushing the boat out for my girl. I made my way to the kitchen without passing out, an award-winning achievement in itself, and put on my metaphorical chefs hat to see what I could muster up in our out of stocked kitchen. Even with my Michelin star chef abilities, I was struggling, so decided on pasta-because pasta is the key to a woman's heart, or so I told myself. Considering my desire to curl up in a ball for the next 50 years of my life, things were going surprising smoothly, until it hit me. The smell of food. It became unbearable. I ran to the bathroom and made it just in time. Lovely sight for the mrs to come home to.

(Y/N) POV

I pulled into our driveway and made my way through the front door. Silence. Wow ok. Not quite the romantic reception I was waiting for, but we move on.
"Oi lover boy, where the fuck you at" I shouted from my place in the hall way.
Silence. Well that's just rude. Then I heard a small grunt from the downstairs bathroom which was the last place I'd expected Brad to be. I trudged into the bathroom and the sight made my heart swell. Brad was slumped up against the porcelain tiled wall next to the toilet, hair stuck to his sweaty forehead and his eyes shut, grimace on his face.
"Happy Valentine's Day babe" he chuckled.
He explained everything that had happened since his early departure from work and all I could do was laugh. Not In a sinister, apathetic way, but In a 'are you shitting me way?' I explained to him how I really don't give much of a shit about Valentine's Day, because I love him everyday- even when he's sick. That night I ate Brad's pasta (not too shabby) and held his curls back as he puked his guts up into the toilet; and if that doesn't scream love then fuck knows what does. And I got to relax in my pjs after all; happy shitting Valentine's Day my loves!