#bro i refrained from an all out sob fest this time though it was tempting

[marcspectrr]

"I can't do this anymore" + marclayla

Oooh my brain immediately went post nightmare angstangstangst but I'm gonna go softer for this one lol

"I can't do this anymore," he half jokes, glancing over to the other side of the bed, his whole body itching restlessly. "I mean, what am I supposed to do? Just sit and watch ya try and keep somethin' down all day?"

Layla tiredly tilts her head to give him a look, a piece of sweaty, curly fringe brushing against her pale skin. She smiles weakly, eyes still crinkling in the corners. "I'm sorry, is this whole being laid up in bed thing not for you?"

Her temperature was over a hundred, last time he checked. Even ridden with fever, she still had a vivacious way.

He didn't get many days off. Problem with that was he didn't know what to do with himself when he found himself in one. His focus was eager for an outlet, sporadic and unpredictable when thrown out of his routine.

Waking up to Layla rushing out of bed right before he walked in to hold her hair back in front of the toilet was not apart of his routine.

"You didn't have to stay today, Marc. I can take care of myself, you know," she says softly, noticing his hesitation. He shakes his head.

"Nah, I wanted to stay," he mumbles, readjusting himself against their pillows as she moves closer. He's grateful for the contact even if it is overwhelmingly warm from the fever, at being able to wrap his arm around her sore back as she rested against his side.

He pushes away thoughts of laying in bed as a kid, trying to figure out which medicines to take and how much all on his own. He wasn't even good at taking care of himself, much less another person. "I'm just not...not the best at this." He vaguely gestures to her, then the table with the bottles of red syrup, boxes of tissues, soups and thermometer.

He feels her shift closer, lazily bringing his hand down to her hot lips in a tired kiss. "You're doing just fine, love."