"Ah…ah…AH-CHOO!" Nathan sneezed, groaning uncomfortably as his body jerked forward. He had come down with some sort of a bug, Harry had told him it was the flu, but Nathan is too stubborn to listen, insisting that he's perfectly fine – though his nasal-y sounding voice and inability to actually have the sniffles (due to a very stuffy nose) told him otherwise.

"Eugh, blow before you end up with a sinus infection." Harry pulled a disgusted face, tossing a box of tissues onto the bed beside his friend, and his car keys onto the dresser. After a long drawn out discussion over which tissues would be the best for, 'Nathan's precious nose' he had eventually guilted Harry into splurging an extra few bucks and getting him Puffs. "Make sure you throw those away, mate, I'd rather not wake up with boogey-filled Kleenex sticking to my cheeks."

Nathan opened his mouth to announce his comeback, but was cut off but yet another sneeze. He gave up after that, struggling with the cardboard flap on top of the box until Harry got sick of seeing him struggle and tore it off for him. There was a mumble, and in sick Nathan language, that was as good of a 'thanks' as he was getting.

Kicking off his shoes, Harry made his way to the kitchen, preparing a small pot for the can of soup he had bought on his little tissue adventure. There was no way Nathan would eat willingly, but Harry was rather worried about him dehydrating or starving himself or something, so there was only one solution.

Nathan, on the other hand, had other plans. Still insisting he was as healthy as he had been the week prior, he was now attempting to get out of bed. Mumbling something about having to finish up research for their upcoming 'adventure'. He didn't feel fine, and glancing at himself in the mirror, he certainly didn't look it – he wouldn't allow a little cold to keep him down, though, he had been through much worse.

"Look what's ol' Harry's got—" Harry returned a few moments later, bowl and spoon in hand. He kept his eyes on the floor, making sure he didn't trip over Nathan's piles and piles of history books, so he didn't notice his 'patient' getting out of bed until the last minute. "Oh, no you don't. Back to bed. Don't make me force you, Drake, I will do it." Setting the bowl of warm liquid down on the nightstand, he carefully set his hands on Nathan's shoulders and directed him back into bed.

Sighing in defeat, Nathan didn't even feel well enough to put up a fight anymore. Giving Harry the benefit of the doubt, he plopped back down into bed, groaning once more as he tried to find his sweet spot again. "What's in the the bowl?"

Harry moved Nathan's legs out of the way and sat down on the edge of the bed, retrieving the bowl from the nightstand before shifting his body so he was facing his friend. "Open up," He spooned up as much noodle and broth as he could, hoping Nathan liked Chicken Noodle Soup. "I understand you don't feel like eating, lad, but – do it for me?" He pouted momentarily, but quickly went about gently blowing on the soup pooling on the spoon, trying to cool it down as best as he could.

Nathan sighed once more, rolling his eyes. "Don't you dare pout at me, Flynn." He propped himself up a bit, not having the energy or desire to fight with Harry at the moment. Giving in was the best option. "I can feed myself, you know." He opened his mouth, not believing he was actually letting Harry feed him.

Smiling happily, Harry scooted forward a bit, slipping the spoon past Nathan's lips, and dumping the liquid and noodles into his mouth. "I know you can, but you won't, now will ya? Exactly, so just shut up and let me enjoy this." He let the spoon rest against the inside wall of the bowl, and he carefully leaned in once again, breaking the distance between them.

"I know exactly what will get rid of that fever."

"Hmm?" Nathan mused, examining Harry's face, attempting to read whatever his next move would be.

"This," Harry winked, pressing a gentle, but loving kiss against Nathan's forehead, letting it linger perhaps a moment longer than necessary before pulling back, and shoving another spoonful of soup into his mouth.