Charles opened the door and glanced at the quiet figure lying in the bed. Erik's face was red with fever. The man had been down with a cold for almost two days, but refused to see a doctor. Erik had this weird notion that you weren't sick unless a professional told you so.
Today was Christmas Eve, and Charles was feeding his lover chicken soup with a spoon, bathing his face with a cloth soaked with fresh water and hoping for the best : they were supposed to have dinner with Raven and Hank. At 4pm, Charles was forced to admit that they had to cancel.
« I'm sorry, dear, » Charles told his sister through the phone.
« No, I understand. But you have to take good care of him, okay ? »
« Of course. We'll see you for New Year's Eve, right ? »
When he hung up, a feeble call of his name came to him from the bedroom. He rushed to Erik's side. The man was half-seated in the bed, coughing his lungs out.
« I'm so sorry, Charles, » Erik croaked between two sneezes.
« It's not your fault. Don't worry. »
Charles let Erik rest for a couple of hours. When he came back, Erik was awake. Charles brought a tray on which lay two plates of mashed potatoes and bits of roast chicken. There were also two large glasses of eggnog. A tiny Christmas tree made of a single twig, adorned with a bright thread of red wool and small balls of tinfoil, stood in the middle of the tray, and under it, a small present.
« Merry Christmas, my love, » Charles said. He kissed Erik's hot forehead, then pointed at the small box. « It's fake, but your real present is downstairs, under the real tree. »
They spent the evening enjoying each other in the bedroom, feeding each other bits of food and cuddling a lot.
The next morning, Erik felt much better, but Charles' throat started itching.
« I guess we're going to spend New Year's Eve in the same fashion as Christmas, » Erik noticed with a smile.
Raven was going to be furious.