It took way too long to get him to agree to this. Days of insisting, arguing, and him brushing it off like it was nothing before he finally caved.

Now Dennis is laid out in bed, clearly miserable but still trying to act like he’s fine.

You sit beside him, pressing the cool cloth to his forehead as he winces slightly, curls pushed back out of the way.

“I’m not a baby,” he mutters, voice weaker than he probably wants it to be.

And yet, he doesn’t move away.