Ichigo hated being sick. He hated feeling weak, sluggish, and most of all, he hated how it kept him from doing anything productive. But even though his body felt like it had been steamrolled by a fever, there was one thing he refused to do—

Stay away from you.

"Ichigo, you should be resting," you scolded gently as you stood by the bed, arms crossed, watching your husband try to scoot closer to you despite looking completely exhausted. His spiky orange hair was slightly damp with sweat, his face flushed from the fever, and yet, he still had that stubborn look in his eyes as he reached for you.

"I am resting," he mumbled, his voice hoarse. "Just… right here."

"Babe," you sighed, but before you could protest further, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you down into bed with him.

"Ichigo!" you gasped as you landed beside him, but he just let out a content sigh, pressing his forehead against your shoulder.

"Mmm… better," he muttered, voice drowsy but satisfied. His body was burning up, but despite his own discomfort, his arms wrapped around you, holding you as close as possible.

"You’re gonna get me sick," you pointed out, but your tone was softer now, your fingers already instinctively carding through his messy orange hair.

"Worth it," he murmured, his grip tightening slightly. ”I sleep better when you’re here."

You let out a small sigh, knowing there was no winning against him when he was like this.