Canon

It had been a few days since Ariana had recovered from her bout with the flu. She was finally feeling like herself again, flitting around the house with renewed energy, humming a tune as she went about her day. Cynthia, on the other hand, seemed quieter than usual. She insisted she was fine, brushing off Ariana’s concerned glances with a wave of her hand.

That night, Ariana climbed into bed beside Cynthia, slipping under the covers with a soft sigh. She scooted closer, wrapping her arms around her partner’s waist and nestling her face into the crook of Cynthia’s neck. But as soon as she pressed her cheek against Cynthia’s skin, she froze.

“Cyn,” Ariana murmured, her voice laced with concern. “You’re burning up.”

Cynthia shifted slightly, her voice low and hoarse. “I’m fine, Ari. It’s nothing.”

Ariana pulled back, propping herself up on one elbow to get a better look at her. Cynthia’s face was flushed, and a faint sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead. Her usually bright eyes were dull, and her breathing sounded heavier than normal.

“You’re not fine,” Ariana said firmly. “You’ve got a fever.”

“It’s just a little one,” Cynthia replied, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ll sleep it off.”

Ariana frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You caught my flu, didn’t you?”

Cynthia sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. “Probably. But it’s not a big deal, Ari. Really.”

Ariana sat up fully, crossing her arms. “Not a big deal? Cyn, you’re clearly sick, and you didn’t even tell me. Were you just going to tough it out on your own?”

Cynthia glanced away, her silence answering the question.

“That’s it,” Ariana said, her voice tinged with frustration. “You’re not ‘toughing it out.’ I’m taking care of you, whether you like it or not.”

Cynthia groaned softly, leaning her head back against the pillow. “Ari, you don’t have to—”

“Don’t even try to argue with me,” Ariana interrupted, climbing out of bed. “I’m getting the thermometer and some medicine. Stay here.”

Cynthia sighed again, but a faint smile tugged at her lips as she watched Ariana disappear into the bathroom. Despite her protests, she couldn’t deny the comfort of having Ariana fuss over her.

Ariana rummaged through the bathroom cabinets, muttering to herself. “Where is it? I know we had the forehead thermometer…” She pulled out bottles of vitamins, random first-aid supplies, and half-empty prescriptions, but the thermometer was nowhere to be found.

Finally, she let out a frustrated huff, grabbing the oral thermometer tucked away at the back of the drawer. As she stood, her eyes landed on the bottle of paracetamol syrup—the one the doctor had prescribed her when she was sick just last week. She knew they were out of fever-reducing pills—she’d finished the last of them when she was sick—and silently cursed herself for not restocking.

Returning to the bedroom, she found Cynthia still lying on her side, her eyes barely open. Ariana placed the thermometer, the syrup, and a glass of water on the nightstand before sitting beside her partner.

“Alright, Cyn. I couldn’t find the forehead one, so we’re going old-school,” Ariana said, holding up the oral thermometer with a small shake for emphasis.

Cynthia groaned softly. “Do we have to? I’m fine, love. Just a little—”

Ariana cut her off with a pointed look. “You’re burning up. Don’t even try to argue. Open your mouth.”

Cynthia hesitated, but the sternness in Ariana’s gaze made her relent. With a small sigh, she opened her mouth, letting Ariana place the thermometer under her tongue.

“Good,” Ariana murmured gently, her thumb tracing soft circles over Cynthia’s hand as they waited for the thermometer to beep. “Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this bad? You know I’d drop everything to take care of you.”

Cynthia murmured something around the thermometer—likely an attempt at brushing off the concern—but Ariana shook her head. “No talking with it in your mouth,” she scolded gently.

When the thermometer beeped, Ariana pulled it out, frowning as she read the display. “101.8,” she muttered, her stomach tightening with worry. She glanced back at Cynthia, who looked far too pale for Ariana’s liking. “Cyn, that’s a real fever. You’re not fine, no matter how much you want to act tough.”

Cynthia tried to sit up, her voice scratchy. “It’s not that bad. I’ll be okay, love.”

Ariana gently but firmly pushed her back down. “Nope. Absolutely not. You’re staying in bed, and you’re taking this medicine,” she said, reaching for the syrup.

Cynthia’s nose wrinkled, a flicker of defiance in her tired eyes. “The syrup? Isn’t that the one you hated when you were sick?”

“Yes,” Ariana admitted with a wry smile, pouring the sticky liquid into the measuring cup. “But it worked, and it’s all we’ve got right now. So, tough it out.”

Cynthia groaned again, her lips twitching in distaste, but she didn’t fight her. Ariana held out the cup, her free hand hovering protectively over Cynthia’s as she took it.

“Down the hatch,” Ariana said, her voice light but commanding.

Cynthia hesitated, locking eyes with Ariana. She could feel a flutter in her chest—partly from the fever but mostly from the way Ariana’s voice softened just enough to soothe her, yet held an edge of authority that made her want to listen.

With a reluctant sigh, Cynthia drank the syrup, her face scrunching up immediately. Ariana let out a small laugh and handed her the glass of water.

“Good girl,” Ariana said with a teasing smile.

Cynthia froze for a split second, heat rushing to her cheeks that had nothing to do with her fever. Her lips parted as if to respond, but she found herself oddly flustered.

Ariana caught the flicker of something in Cynthia’s expression and smirked. “What?” she asked innocently, tilting her head.

“Nothing,” Cynthia muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked away quickly, though her faint blush didn’t escape Ariana’s notice.

Leaning down, Ariana pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering for just a moment. “Uh-huh. Sure, nothing,” she murmured. “Now lie back and rest. I’ll go make you some soup.”

As Cynthia sank back against the pillows, Ariana adjusted the blankets around her with gentle care.

Cynthia reached out, her fingers brushing against Ariana’s wrist. “You don’t have to, Ari…”

Ariana placed her hand over Cynthia’s, her expression soft but resolute. “Stop saying that. You take care of me all the time. Let me do the same for you.”

Cynthia’s lips curved into the faintest smile, though her exhaustion was winning out. “You’re stubborn when you’re worried,” she mumbled, her eyes fluttering shut.

“And you’re stubborn all the time,” Ariana countered, her voice tinged with affection. She smoothed a hand over Cynthia’s head, letting out a quiet sigh. “But I love you anyway.”

Cynthia’s smile widened ever so slightly, and Ariana stayed by her side until she was sure she’d fallen asleep.

The moment Ariana was certain Cynthia was asleep, she set off to make her as comfortable as possible. She tiptoed out of the bedroom, grabbing her phone to set a timer for Cynthia’s next dose of medicine.

The kitchen was quiet as Ariana rummaged through the fridge, searching for ingredients to make soup. A small wave of guilt washed over her as she spotted a container of leftover chicken broth—the same one Cynthia had used to make soup for her when she was sick just a few days ago.

“She took such good care of me,” Ariana mumbled to herself, shaking her head. “And she doesn’t even let me do the same.”

Determined, Ariana got to work, chopping vegetables and simmering the broth with an efficiency she didn’t know she had. Occasionally, her thoughts drifted to Cynthia’s flushed cheeks and tired eyes. She hated seeing her partner like that—strong and confident Cynthia reduced to someone too exhausted to argue back.

When the soup was ready, Ariana carefully poured it into a bowl, grabbing crackers and a glass of ginger ale for good measure. Balancing everything on a tray, she made her way back to the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to check on Cynthia.

Her heart clenched when she saw how small Cynthia looked, curled up under the blankets, her usually vibrant energy dimmed.

“Cyn,” Ariana called softly as she approached the bed, setting the tray on the nightstand. “I made you soup.”

Cynthia stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “You didn’t have to, love,” she rasped, her voice barely audible.

Ariana frowned and sat down beside her. “Stop saying that. Of course, I had to. Now, sit up and eat something.”

Cynthia let out a tired sigh but obeyed, her movements slow as Ariana propped pillows behind her back to help her sit up. Ariana carefully placed the tray on her lap, her hands lingering to make sure it was steady.

“Smells good,” Cynthia said, offering a faint smile.

Ariana sat cross-legged on the bed beside her, watching intently as Cynthia took a spoonful of soup. She waited for the reaction, her brow furrowed with worry.

Cynthia swallowed, then glanced at Ariana with a small, teasing smirk. “Better than mine.”

Ariana let out a laugh, her shoulders relaxing. “You’re such a liar.”

“I’m serious,” Cynthia replied, though her voice was still weak. “This is amazing.”

Ariana beamed, “Good. You need to eat all of it. Doctor’s orders.”

Cynthia raised an eyebrow. “Doctor Grande, huh?”

“That’s right,” Ariana quipped, crossing her arms. “And if you don’t cooperate, I’ll have to prescribe more of that awful syrup.”

Cynthia groaned dramatically, earning another laugh from Ariana. Despite her exhaustion, Cynthia felt a flicker of warmth spread through her—not just from the soup, but from the way Ariana was doting on her so fiercely.

As Cynthia finished eating, Ariana took the tray and set it aside, fluffing the blankets before tucking Cynthia back in.

“Do you need anything else?” Ariana asked softly, brushing her thumb along Cynthia’s temple.

Cynthia shook her head, her eyelids already drooping. “Just stay,” she murmured.

Ariana climbed into bed beside her, wrapping an arm around Cynthia’s waist. She pulled her close, resting her chin on Cynthia’s shoulder.

“You scared me,” Ariana whispered after a moment. “Don’t do that again, okay? If you’re sick, tell me. Don’t try to tough it out.”

Cynthia turned her head slightly, her tired eyes meeting Ariana’s. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice genuine.

Ariana pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “Good. Now go to sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”

As Cynthia drifted off, Ariana stayed awake, her hand resting on Cynthia’s back, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of her breathing.