#it gets a bit chilly and the wind getse and I go HRK x_x

[aka-indulgence]

Made another Bob Velseb drabble… thing. Idk why I was suddenly inspired, I just was > < It’s a lil thing where he comes to take care of you a little while you’re sick in the winter, while it’s snowing, late at night /w\ hehe

——

It’s snowing pretty hard out, and your bed is placed next to the windows. You’ve drawn the curtains, as if it was going to protect you from the chill outside. Huddled in your blankets, trying your best to force yourself to sleep, through the headache.

It’s pretty damn hard to do.

…

Especially when you hear some hard knocks on your apartment door. In this late night.

“Mmnerghhh,” you grumble, giving the doorway an irritated look. You are not getting up from your bed. Who was it anyway?

You tried not to let your mind run wild at whatever spooky monster had crawled its way to your door, from all the rumors you’ve heard around the town. Especially when an acquaintance you had couldn’t resist introducing you to the scariest ones when they found out you were a newcomer.

Thanks, Luna. You thought sarcastically to yourself, Real helpful for the newcomer who lives alone.

It’s probably nothing anyway. Though you struggle with a proper explanation, since.. you didn’t really know your neighbors.

Tried to ignore it.

… The knocks were back.

Fuuuck.

“Who??” You try your best to keep the irritation out of your voice, and physically cringe at how raspy your throat sounds. “Is it???”

Silence hangs for a moment. You’re about to start cursing, you didn’t have TIME for this, when a voice answers.

A familiar one.

“.... ‘s Bob.” His baritone voice answers.

It startles you to alertness, eyes opening wide, looking at the doorway. It’s a good thing you didn’t curse immediately, you would be very panicked right about now.

“O-oh, c… comingng!” You say, the ‘ng’ sounding stuffy. You had the problem of getting out of your bed… the heater was warm, sure, but it felt as if anything was cold when you were sick. Especially in winter… while it’s snowing…

You decided to try to walk barefooted towards the door, stepping over the carpet threshold onto the tiled floor.

Bad idea- you made a very unattractive yelp when your delicate foot touched the icy cold floor (probably not that cold if you weren’t sick, you note). You mumbled incoherently, putting your feet in your fluffy slippers and shuffling towards the door.

You have little brain-power, some of it going to the thoughts of What if he’s confronting me about giving him late notice on your absence? Maybe this is why he worked alone-

You don’t hesitate to open the door, however. You blink confusedly, looking at a wall of red before you remember right. Have to look up to look at his face, before doing just that. Bob is… looming over you a little bit, eyes narrowing as he looks at you. Puffy eyes, stuffy nose, blanket wrapped around you, making you look like a cloaked grandma.

The question that comes after a moment of silence surprises you with how warm with concern it was. “Are you ok?”

“Yes I am, don’t worry about me, just… cold.” You explain easily, “... I mean I’m cold, but I also have a cold… but it’s fine, I’ll… I’ll try to come to work tomorrow.”

… You shivered.

He looks unimpressed. Although… you aren’t sure how you’d read his expression, right now.

“... Let me in.”

It comes as an order, rather than a request.

You… you weren’t prepared for that, and all too quickly the word “Yes,” tumbles out of your mouth.

Bob opens the door wider. And maybe, if you had the clarity of mind, you’d start to feel pretty awkward, having invited your boss into your modest apartment while you were poorly, but. You didn’t have that right now, and simply hobbled back closer to the warmth of your heater, in your bedroom. Your boss(/friend????) walked in after you, his footsteps heavy.

“I’m sorry… ‘bout the late… message,” you muttered, “I don’t think it’d be good to work like this, and I didn’t have energy to talk it with you this morning and just passed out…”

Bob is silent as you try to explain yourself.

“.... Are you firing me?” You turned to look at him as you stand in the bedroom, your brain too headachey to think about how odd it was that you had this big man in your bedroom… not that you don’t trust him. Just, odd.

You don’t see the weird face he makes.

“No. You’re sick.”

Hm… why does he look so angry then? … no that’s a look of concern.

“I’m… mean not tuh be rude…” you say, as you feel your legs aching, sitting back on the bed. “Why’re you here, Bob?”

“To check on you,” he explains simply.

“Awh… that’s very nice of you,” you say, unintentionally interrupting something that he looked like he was about to say. “It’s not that bad, just-”

Itchy.

Ah.. ah…

“ACHOO!” you sneezed, quite violently in fact, that your whole body shaked and snot was dribbling down your nose. Wonderfull, (Y/n), you looked great in front of your boss. Curse this window right now… you could feel the chill when you bring your hand to it. You ungraciously feel around for the box of tissues beside your bed, and furiously wipe away your snot. The trash bin you’ve moved closer to your bed was almost full.

You look at Bob… then start shrinking into your blanket. You must look like garbage right now- not a look you wanted him to see.

“... Sorry.”

The man only shakes his head, asking “Have you eaten?”

“Mm… sure…” You nod your head at the yet-to-be-cleaned table just beside of him. Microwaved, ready to serve food, that.. didn’t taste very good. You needed something warm, something that tasted good even if your taste buds decided to take sick-leave.

It was not that.

“... Darlin’,” your brain doesn’t even process the nickname, “No.”

He looks at you disapprovingly. As if on cue, your stomach starts grumbling, and you shift uncomfortably in your bed.

“Was a good idea I came here, then…” He puts his hand in his coat pocket (he hadn’t taken it off)... producing a tupperware.

You sit up straighter.

“What’zat?”

“Stew.” He answers simply, then smiling secretively, adds “Beef stew.”

He smiles wider (but not eerily so!) when he sees how your eyes start to regain it’s sparkle, looking at it. Maybe you even start to drool when he opens it up, and the delicious scent starts wafting in the air.

“Whoa…” You wipe your mouth with sleeve. If he noticed it, he doesn’t mention it. “That smells heavenly… … did, did you make this for me?”

Bob chuckles, that warm chuckle that made you feel… something, when he did. “Yeah. Can’t have my only waitress sick… need her back as soon as possible, hm?”

Your cheeks warmed, at the idea of mm, stew, and that Bob was being such a sweetheart. You thank him, as you take the stew into your hands (wonderfully warm… wonderfully fragrant…), dipping the spoon he’d so kindly offered you to taste.

“Fuck… this is so good!” you moan a little at the taste, “Burger isn’t the only thing you’re good at, huh?”

“It’s… anything with meat, really,” his eyes cast to the side, eyes giddy about… something. He takes off his coat, revealing more of his signature red sweater, putting it on a clothes hanger, and… you notice, as you slurp your soup, the snow starting to melt off it. You open your mouth to mention it, the winds howling out the window, but it’s Bob that talks first.

“I can make other stuff too, if you’d like…”

“Oh, would I!”

—————

Bob was happy to see the color flooding your cheeks again, (he always enjoyed watching blood rushing…) and you looked less miserable while he talked with you. You shivered less, too. Eventually you went quiet, and it took a while before he noticed that you’d fallen asleep, head on your pillow.

Eyes softening, he pulled a blanket over you. By the stars, he thought you looked cute. Your cheeks were slightly pink, even if your nose was redder. You were snoring very quietly that it sounded cute. He chuckles to himself, pulling the blanket up over you, tucking you in.

He wouldn’t have pegged himself for a guy who liked… soft things. Sure he… liked soft meat, but he also found out he liked soft bodies. Soft, warm bodies. Body.

This one.

He lets his hand reach for your cheek, running the back of his finger up and down your cheek. Such delicate skin… so warm. Perhaps that was a slight fever, but it felt nice to touch in the chill.

It’d be laughably easy to break it. … but he doesn’t let his claws scratch you up. And he doesn’t even think about the knives he has on his belt.

Never this one. He thinks to himself. This one’s mine.

He stands up, wondering to himself if he could just… settle into your bed and wrap himself around you, but thinks better of it. Let her rest. He should probably leave now.

… But.

The snow wasn’t letting up soon.

And his house was a bit far away.

And the chair looks mighty comfy, right about now.

He could leave, but then your door would be unlocked and the thoughts of someone else bad that could walk in here puts a bad taste on his tongue, like bad meat. And he definitely isn’t willing to wake up the sleeping little thing in front of him…

So to the chair he goes. It creaks under his weight, grunting as he settles into it. He closes his eyes for a moment, before opening one, to look at you again.

… Yeah. This was much nicer than having to go home alone, where there wasn’t any adorable little things to look at.