You were feeling a little under the weather, and you were resting in your apartment as Shawn was at the studio for his newest album. You were watching your favorite show on Netflix, laughing and smiling as much as you can.
A sickening feeling expands throughout your body and pounding in your chest, and you rush to the bathroom. You hurl into the toilet, grasping the rim of the seat disgustingly. You couldn't help it but cling onto the toilet as you exposed your weak side to the empty apartment.
You grab some toilet paper to wipe your mouth, toss it into the bowl, and flush. You sit there, weak and tired. You couldn't bear to move. You call Shawn using the cell in your sweatpants pockets.
It straight into voice mail, so you left a message.
"Hey, babe. It's Y/N. I'm on the bathroom floor and I don't think I can get up -" You pause as you throw up again into the toilet, dropping your phone on the tile floor. After, you pick up the phone. "Yeah, I'm just gonna wait until you get home. I love you. Bye." You hang up and clean yourself up.
You try to push yourself off the ground, but you felt so weak. You just sit there in pain as tears slowly drip off your chin. You lean against the tub, rubbing your temple as you feel your migraine gets worse.
About fifteen minutes pass when you hear the door open, and Shawn was calling your name.
"In here, Shawn!" You cry.
Shawn opens the door to reveal a worried expression on his face. "Oh, babe, look at you." Shawn helps you up off the ground and carries you to the bedroom where he carefully places you down. He covers you up with a thin blanket that you were using for the summer. "I'll be right back."
You lay there in pain, your head throbbing and stomach making whale noises. Your throat burned from the stomach acid and mixed breakfast.
Shawn came back with supplies: a water bottle, a puke bucket, and Advil.
You take the Advil with a gulp of water then lay back down. You rub your thumbs against your temples, groaning.
"Baby, I feel horrible." You cry.
Shawn sits on the other side of the bed, running his fingers through your knotted hair, and sighs. "I know, Y/N. I'm going to take the rest of the day off to help you."
"No, baby, you need to work on the album for your fans."
"Well, I need to take care of my biggest fan, right now." He says.
You roll over, facing him, and cry. "I'm sorry I'm such an ugly, sick monster right now. I love you."
"Babe, you're not ugly. You're beautiful. I love you." He lays down beside you and kisses your forehead. "Now, get some rest."