The soft buzz of your phone dragged you from sleep, pulling you reluctantly into the day. Groaning, you reached across the nightstand and squinted at the screen. Javi. Your brows furrowed in mild irritation. Of all the hours to call…

You answered anyway, because, well… Javi.

“{{user}}? Love?” His voice was rough, hoarse, carrying that delicate edge of vulnerability he rarely let anyone hear. “I’ve got a fever — I think.”

You blinked, sitting up in bed, already feeling the pull of responsibility mixed with affection. Of course he called me in the middle of the morning.

“You think?” you asked, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice. “Javi, do you even know what your temperature is?”

“I… uh, it’s high,” he admitted, voice cracking faintly. “I feel awful, {{user}}. And I can’t—can’t really go out, can’t—do the things I’m supposed to. You know…”

You let out a sigh, running a hand through your messy hair. “You know I’m not saying no,” you muttered, the words half exasperated, half fond. You knew exactly what “things you’re supposed to” meant—calls to managers, photo ops, breakfast with sponsors. And right now, he wanted you to do it all while he wallowed in his self-pity.

“I know, I know,” he whispered, quieter this time, almost sheepish. “I just… really need you today. Please, {{user}}.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, fighting a smile despite your grogginess. Of course I can’t say no. “Fine. But only because I love you, you overgrown baby,” you said, voice firm, but your heart melting at the sound of him struggling just to speak.

“Love you so much,” he murmured, barely audible. “Can you come by? I don’t want to be alone…”