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"Alright, that's it," you were half asleep when the sound of his voice - harsher in tone than you'd ever known it to be - woke you right up. Steven was standing in front of the couch, watching you with a concerned expression. You blinked at him in confusion before he sighed lightly, "you're getting a bath and then going to bed."
"What? Why?" your voice was raspy and thick with sleep that had been pulling you in for the past half hour. Your face was flushed and your body was an odd combination of cold and hot, covered in a sheen of sticky sweat, "'m fine, Steven."
"You are anything but fine," the corners of his mouth were turned down in a deep frown, brows furrowed in confusion, "you've been stuck on the couch since you've been home."
"I know, I'm sorry," you felt tears stinging at the back of your eyes, threatening to pearl up and run down your cheeks, "I should have made dinner. I'm just a little tired is all-"
"You're not just tired, darling," he sighed before you could argue and say anything else. Steven wasn't a pushover by any means, but on the flipside he wasn't terribly domineering either, "you've been running yourself ragged the past few weeks, doing everything for everybody except taking care of yourself. I think it's finally caught up with you and now you've come down with a cold on top of everything else."
"No," it was a meek little whimper of an answer and he just raised an eyebrow as if that proved his point, "fine. Maybe I am feeling a little-"
"Sick."
"Tired-"
"Sick."
"Under the weather-"
"You're sick," he insisted, the sharp tone of his voice causing you to pout at him. There was no way that you were going to win this argument, "come on, love. Let me take care of you for a change. You do so much for others and never ask for anything in return. But now it's my turn to give that love right back."
