Shawn Mendes Imagines/Blurbs/Oneshots

In Sickness & In Health | Shawn Mendes

Summary: Being sick on your three year anniversary sucks, but Shawn is there to take care of you regardless. [fluff] [non au]

Word Count: 1.6k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Getting sick is never fun, no matter what the ailment may be. It's been a long while since you've been ill, years perhaps. So long in fact you've forgotten what it is to be plagued by a stuffy head and a sore throat, to live off cough drops and NyQuil as if they are your life blood. Being sick with a cold is not a plight you'd wish upon anyone and you truly hope no one would wish upon you, but here you are, your eyes and nose red, throat on fire like you've swallowed a torch. It's that time of year when the air gets crisp and people tend to gather together to stay warm and stay out of the cold. The time when viruses and bacteria spread like wildfire in the wind among humans. Wildfire that's burned it's way into your body.

You lay in bed, blankets up to your chin. Fuzzy socks adorn your cold feet, and you rest, propped up on three pillows behind you. You've got a bedside table full of beverages you've worked your way through during the day. Water, tea, what was once warm cider and some orange juice. Truth be told, you should get up and take them to the kitchen and get fresh water, it's been quite a while since you filled the bottle that's nearly empty.

The clock on your nightstand reads a quarter till three in the afternoon. Shawn will be home soon, maybe you could wait until he gets there. Maybe he could get you some fresh tea too. Mmm, fresh tea and a warm blanket. Yeah, you'd ask him to throw one of the couch blankets into the drier for you.

"Baby?" A voice floats through the house. It's Shawn and you smile, glad not to be alone and sick anymore. "I'm home."

The door to the bedroom opens and you give him a weak wave. He smiles, the concern and worry written all over it but still hidden behind a gentle turn of his lips. You know he frets every time you get sick, every time you have so much as menstrual cramps. Shawn hates to see you not feeling one hundred percent yourself, he feels as if he has to fix it, no matter what.

"I need water," you mumble, glancing to the bedside table "I was going to get up."

"Likely story." Shawn says, taking your water bottle and then reaching for your forehead. He presses his palm to your skin. "You feel feverish. When is the last time you took some medicine?"

"Um..."

He sighs heavily, disappointment evident. "I'll get your medicine and some water. Would you like anything else?"

"Mint tea."

"And food? Have you eaten?"

"No."

Shawn cups your cheek and you look away, not wanting to meet his eyes. You know he wants to scold you. "Do I need to stay home for a day or two so you will get better?"

"No! I'll take care of myself."

"You're sure? Because I really miss my girlfriend." He pets your hair back off your forehead. "All I've got now is this sick blob."

"Hey!"

He cracks a smile. He's teasing you, as if he can't resist for one hour. It's what you love about him, how he's always so playful and loving. "I love my sick blob." He leans over and places a chaste kiss to your temple, hand cupping your cheek as he brings your head to meet his lips. "I'll be back alright? Don't die on me before I finish your tea and some dinner."

You close your eyes and stick your tongue out, faking dead and it earns you a chuckle as he exits the room. You'd love for him to stay with you, to take a few days off from the studio, but you refuse to be selfish.