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Nora looks up when she hears the bell over the door ring followed by the sound of a heavy but muffled sneeze. It's John, dressed in a jacket just barely justified by the weather they have been having. He has stopped right by the doors with a tissue held tightly over his mouth and nose. He waits, sniffles thickly and shoves the tissue into the left side pocket of his jacket. He has been sniffly for the past couple of days, but the cold has clearly decided to grow worse instead of subsiding.
"Hey," she says in greeting, a smile finding its way on her lips despite his obvious misery. He smiles back.
"Hey."
Hearing his voice makes Nora's stomach twist in sympathy; he looks bad, pallid with flushed cheeks that make her wonder if he's running a fever, the skin around his nose all red and tender looking, and he sounds every bit as sick. Congested and hoarse and tired.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, making her tone playful even though what she feels is concern and sympathy. He glances at her in confusion. Of course she should have expected that.
"I mean, shouldn't you be home? In bed, maybe?"
"Oh. No, it's a busy week. A busy month," he says with another thick sniffle. It clearly triggers something in his throat or chest, judging by the way he tenses up. His right hand slips into a pocket and he pulls out a fresh tissue, folding it open as he turns away from Nora and the counter she's standing behind, presses the tissue tightly to his face and coughs.
"You look tired," she says.
"I… it's fine."
Nora purses her lips but chooses not to argue.
"Tea?" she asks instead, and John nods.
"Have you eaten?"
"I had dinner yesterday."
That's another thing Nora can't claim to be surprised by. In general, John is good at this stuff — he cooks for himself and he lives by a schedule which means he doesn't just forget to eat — but fevers can change a lot. She's known him long enough to know that.
"It's your lucky day, then. I have new pastries I'm sure you'll… be willing to try?" she said. Saying he'd surely like them would have been a stretch, even if she's fairly confident he will like it.
"Yea. Sounds like it is my lucky day," he says. He wipes his nose with the tissue still in his hand. "Can I go wash my hands first? I don't want to hand you money that's all…"
John makes a face holding up his hands as if she could see the germs on them.
"Sure. I'll have it all ready for you when you come."
John leaves for the small toilet the café has for customers, and Nora turns to grab a plate and one of the bigger cups they have. He takes longer in the bathroom than what simply washing your hands should take and when he finally comes out his nose is tinged a new shade of red. She guesses he must have taken the opportunity to blow his nose as well. He's still breathing through his parted lips, though, and he somehow seems even more exhausted than earlier.
"Here," Nora says as she hands him his tea and a small plate with a pastry on it. He pays for them and sits down close enough to the counter to be able to chat, but a little further away that usually. He's been diligently trying to keep his germs to himself since the day he realised he was coming down with something, and it seems he's continuing the same way.
"I'm coming over tonight," Nora says when John starts putting his things together. His conflicted feelings are written clearly on his face.
"I… I don't want to get you sick," he says.
"Oh shush. I rarely get sick, and I don't mind if I catch something from you," she says. "I would mind it more if I make you suffer alone."
John doesn't protest further, and Nora can clearly see the change of his expression as slight as it may be; he's quietly pleased, and she's happy to be a part of that.
Nora knocks on the door of John's apartment just to give him a notice of her arrival before she lets herself in with the key she has. She hears scrambling from further inside the apartment, and when she enters the living area, she sees John, with sleep tousled hair and his glasses still neatly on the small table besides his sofa, trying to hastily tidy up the space. He looks every bit like someone who's fallen asleep by accident and has just been spooked awake to realise there were things he had intended to do.
"Stop that," she says. "You don't need to clean for me. It's fine."
John looks at her, and Nora can't tell if the unfocused look is because he still hasn't put his glasses on or if it's all because of the fever and congestion and probably just having woken up. He blinks slowly, and for a moment Nora thinks he's going to protest, but then he settles down on the sofa and finally reaches for his glasses. He looks miserably sick.
"I'll take these to the kitchen. Do you need anything while I'm there?" Nora says, patting the bag of groceries she's holding. John stares at her, then at the small table besides him for a moment, at the empty glass he has on it, before he seems to catch up with his own thoughts.
"Tea? Please?" His voice is raspy and quiet, and he buries his face into his elbow to smother a fit of chesty coughs.
"Coming right up!"
Nora goes to the kitchen, sets the bag of groceries down and fills a kettle with water and puts it on the stove to heat it up. She puts away all she brought, save for the fresh box of tissues she bought just in case he needs more.
When the tea is ready, she returns to John. He lifts his head up from where he was resting it.
"I'm sorry, I won't be very good company today," he says as she hands him the tea.
"John. We are planning on moving in together. We are planning on getting married. I don't need you to entertain me like I wasn't your future wife," Nora says.
John's silent for a moment.
"You are right," he says, a small smile finding its way on his face. "I shouldn't talk as if you were just anyone."
Nora waits for him to sip his tea and to lower the cup before she leans in to plant a kiss of his cheek. John starts to dodge her when he sees her move, but their eyes meet and he relents, leaning over so she can reach him easier. He's definitely running a fever based on the heat she feels when her lips make contact with his skin.
"Please, Nora. Future wife or not, I don't want to get you sick," he says when she settles back on her seat. Nora rolls her eyes and grabs the tea cup to set it down on the small table next to John's empty glass of water so she doesn't need to worry about spilling it. Then, to John's surprise and against his protests, she kisses him on the lips, rubbing her nose gently on his before pulling back.
"There. Can we now stop fussing about germs?" she asks.
John's eyes narrow, but it's impossible to tell if it's intentional or entirely involuntary as the next moment he's twisting away from her to bury his face into his opposite side elbow. He wrenches forward with a sneeze that sounds like it has to tear through multiple layers of build up congestion.
He doesn't need to ask for a tissue, and Nora doesn't care if he's not in any acute need for one despite the way that sneeze sounded — she offers him the nearly empty box anyhow. He mutters a muffled, thoroughly congested "thank you" as he takes a couple of tissues and wipes both his face and his sleeve clean before blowing his nose. He ends up taking the whole box from her, blowing his nose over and over again until he clearly decides he's not going to get better results by trying harder.
John groans as he slumps against her and lets his head rest on her shoulder, his way too warm forehead pressed against the side of her neck. It says plenty of how bad he feels that he doesn't even try to put his used tissues neatly away into the thrash immediately.
"Oh, love," Nora says as she moves her hand on his leg to caress it comfortingly. She'd prefer to pull him into an embrace but for that she would need to move him. "You must be feeling rotten."
John hums, then coughs, turning just enough to do so towards the back of the sofa rather than coughing on her.
"I guess," he says. There's a moment of silence as he searches for the right words. "I… Sometimes I feel just… disconnected from my body? I forget I'm hungry or thirsty or… you know."
He shifts again to shield her from more coughing, and she wonders if he's really trying to claim he forgets how sick he feels as well.
"I do feel sick, though," he says when he stops coughing. He sits up to grab the cup of tea, but stays close enough to keep the physical contact. Nora wonders if he'd be leaning on her as he sips his tea if she wasn’t notably shorter.
"Sooo… you won't be going out tomorrow and will, instead, stay in bed and rest." Her words are more of a suggestion than a question, a way to challenge the compulsive need to never miss a day that she knows to plague him. She can sense the argument and the resistance before he can answer her.
"I told you it's a busy week," he says.
"Yes, and a busy month, too, I heard," she says with a roll of her eyes. "What good does it do to go space out or nap in the lecture halls? You could do that at home, in your own bed."
John frowns, then tries to hide it behind a long sip of his tea.
"I don't nap during lectures," he says. He sounds defensive enough for Nora to assume it must be a point of pride for him. After all, he is an excellent, high working student and all that.
"I'm not saying it's what you usually do," she clarifies. "But you are sick and you are running a fever and I can see how exhausted you are."
John drinks the rest of his tea and puts the cup away in silence. There's a moment of hesitation as he just sits there looking at her.
"Cuddles?" Nora asks, adjusting her own position to invite him closer, on her lap and into her embrace. She knows for experience they can lie down on the sofa together all wrapped up in each other.
The bed would be a better place, though, but they can move there later.
The hesitation is gone the moment she invites him. John takes his glasses off again, putting them back on the table, and moves to lie down with her, with his arms mostly around her and his face buried in her shirt. God, he's warm, the feverish heat engulfing her now that he's holding her. Nora places her own hand over his arm and pushes the fingers of her other hand through his hair.
"I'll see how I feel in the morning," he mutters. Nora feels him rub his nose on her before he can think better of it and move his own hand to continue the rubbing. Nora can just barely reach the box of tissues she brought from her position, but not fast enough to offer him any before he sneezes again, this time into his own, cupped hand.
"There really only is one right choice here," Nora says as she opens the box of tissues and places it on her own hip where John can easily reach it. She holds it stable for him when he does reach for a handful of tissues to blow his nose into. The only response she gets is a grumble.