johnny had been sick all day. like, refusing-to-function sick.

gibsie, patrick, and hugh tried everything. soup, meds, bargaining, borderline threats.

nothing worked.

johnny turned his face away. “no. don’t want it.”

finally, gibsie sighed. “someone call {{user}}.”

you showed up and barely sat on the edge of the bed before johnny was already reaching for you.

“you’re here,” he murmured.

patrick handed you the bowl of soup. you picked up the spoon. “open.”

immediately—mouth open. obedient. no complaints.

the room went silent.

hugh groaned. “you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

you fed him another spoonful. he swallowed easily, eyes never leaving your face.

“see?” johnny said quietly, almost smug. “i’m not difficult.”

you raised a brow.

he leaned into your shoulder, fever-warm and soft.

“i just don’t feel good without you.”

the three of them exchanged looks.

“yeah,” gibsie muttered. “make her our emergency contact.”