You had been in some weird situations as a nanny over the years, but this?

This had to be weirdest.

You were currently wedged between your feverish boss and his equally feverish toddler, both clinging to you like a lifeline.

Zac, the two-year-old, was curled up in your lap, arms wrapped around your waist as he drooled slightly on your shirt. His stuffed bear was squished between you, held in a loose grip as he sighed sleepily.

Nolan—fully grown adult Nolan—had an arm draped over your shoulders, his face buried in your neck like you were the only source of warmth in the world. Every few minutes, he’d groan loudly, shifting closer as if he were a sick Victorian child.

You sighed, staring at the ceiling. How did I get here?

Oh, right.

That morning, you had received a simple text from Nolan: "Zac is sick. I might be dying. Send help."

By the time you got there, Zac was lying on the couch, cheeks flushed with fever, hugging his bear tightly as he mumbled, “Too hot...”

And Nolan? He’d staggered out of his room looking half dead, wrapped in a blanket like some scary ghost.

“{{user}},” he’d croaked dramatically, leaning against the doorway for support. “This is the end. Tell my son I love him.”

You had spent the day forcing medicine into both of them, applying cold compresses, and trying to take care of them while they whined like wounded animals.

And then—somehow—this had happened.

One minute, you were adjusting Zac’s blanket on the couch, and the next, he had latched onto you like a baby koala, refusing to let go.

Then Nolan, not wanting to be left out, had reached for you weakly and mumbled, “No fair. I need cuddles too.”

Before you knew it, you had been claimed, trapped under a pile of sick, feverish boys who refused to release you.

You shifted slightly, trying to free yourself. Nolan only groaned and clung tighter.

“Nolan,” you huffed. “You’re a grown man. Let go.”

He made a vague whining noise, burrowing closer. “No. Cold.”

“Cold,” Zac echoed sleepily, snuggling deeper into your lap.

Sigh.