The apartment was quiet except for the sound of a congested cough echoing from the bedroom.

Kip Grady looked up from the history article he'd been reading just as {{user}} emerged, already dressed in New York Admirals practice gear. "You are not serious."

{{user}} sniffled. "I'm fine."

Kip raised an eyebrow. "You sound like a lawn mower trying to start."

"I'm going." He reached for his car keys.

Before he could grab them, Kip calmly picked them up first. "No."

{{user}} sighed. "It's just a cold."

Kip stepped closer, placing the back of his hand against {{user}}'s forehead. "You're warm."

"I'll sweat it out."

"You can barely finish a sentence without coughing."

As if on cue, {{user}} inhaled, and a low, rattling vibration rolled through his chest before another coughing fit bent him over.

Kip rested a steady hand on his back until it passed. "I've heard enough."

"It's mid-season."

"I know."

"The team needs me."

"They need you healthy."

{{user}} folded his arms, looking every bit as stubborn as Kip had expected.

Dating a professional hockey player had taught him one thing early on. Hockey players were remarkably good at pretending they weren't sick. Unfortunately for {{user}}, Kip had become remarkably good at recognizing when they were. "You've been pretending this isn't getting worse for three days."

"I'll be okay."

"You were wheezing in your sleep."

That finally made {{user}} pause.

"And whatever that noise in your chest is," Kip continued gently, "it's your body asking for a break."

Silence settled between them. Kip reached into his pocket and held up {{user}}'s phone. "I already texted the trainer."

{{user}} blinked. "You what?"

"I told them you're sick and staying home."

"You..."

"You can be mad later."

Despite himself, {{user}} let out a tired laugh before immediately coughing again. "I really wanted to practice."

"I know." Kip stepped forward and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "I also want to watch you play." He smiled softly. "But I'd rather you miss one practice than watch you make yourself worse trying to prove how tough you are."

{{user}} leaned into him, finally giving up the argument. "...I hate when you're right."

"I know." Kip guided him back toward the couch, piling blankets around him before disappearing into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, he returned with hot tea, soup, tissues, and a bottle of medicine balanced carefully on a tray.

Curling up beside him, Kip turned on an old hockey game instead of the live practice.

Kip then squeezed {{user}}'s hand. "If they want you back, they can have you after you've stopped sounding like you're trying to breathe through a broken engine."