"Dude, did you bathe in melted cough drops or something? It reeks in here."

Chris lifted his cheek from the pillow to glare over his shoulder and ended up nearly choking on the drop in his mouth. He let out a few sputtering coughs—ruining any chance of an effectively snarky comeback—and snapped, "They're fucking medicated. They're supposed to be strong."

The words sent him into another coughing fit, and he felt the mattress sink slightly as Josh climbed into bed next to him. His body pressed warmly against Chris', and the blonde uncurled himself at the touch, tangling their legs underneath the blanket.

"Not strong enough, it seems," Josh joked, eyeing the pile of empty wrappers that had accumulated on the bedside table. He reached an arm over Chris and grabbed the box of drops, sending a few stray wrappers fluttering to the carpet. Chris fought an urge to groan at the mess while Josh squinted at the box's fine print.

"How many of these have you had?" Josh asked. He looked askance at Chris, who gestured feebly to the pile on the table.

"Observe," Chris whispered. "Wrapper Mountain."

Josh shoved the box in front of his face, though without his glasses on, Chris really couldn't see a damn thing. "You're supposed to have one every hour."

A beat of silence followed.

"Whoops," Chris said eventually.

"You didn't read the instructions?" Josh asked.

"No."

"You didn't look at all those bold words and think, 'Hmm, maybe there's something important there?'"

"No."

"You just started shoving them in your mouth?"

"Pretty much."

Josh's sigh turned into a laugh, and he let the box drop over the edge of the bed. This time, Chris did groan—he'd need another cough drop in approximately two seconds, and groping blindly at the floor required far more energy than he had at the moment. But then Josh's head flopped onto the pillow, and his breath tickled the back of Chris' neck, and Chris found it very hard to be annoyed.

"If you die from a cough drop overdose, Cochise, I swear to God…"

"At this point I think I'd welcome the sweet release of death," Chris murmured, before realizing how insensitive that was. "Shit," he blurted. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking—"

"Stop," Josh breathed, kissing his shoulder.

"That was really dumb."

"I said stop," Josh repeated. His lips trailed up the side of Chris' neck and behind his ear. "Or am I going to have to make you?"

The combination of Josh's words and his lips against Chris' skin made the blonde shiver, but he shook it off. "As much as I'd love to take you up on that offer, I can't breathe through my nose at all. Making out might actually suffocate me."

"You mean if the cough drops don't kill you first?"

Chris laughed, coughed and rolled onto his back to look up at his boyfriend, who was now propped up on his elbow. "Right," he amended. "If the cough drops don't kill me first."

Josh held his gaze for a long moment, looking at him affectionately. His fingers threaded through Chris' hair, and just as a blush started to creep up Chris' cheeks from the attention, Josh lowered his head and placed a small kiss on the tip of Chris' nose.

"You're cute," he said, so softly that Chris almost convinced himself it was a trick of his hazy mind.

"You're going to get yourself sick, breathing my air like this."

Josh shrugged. "I don't care."

Chris tried to look at him sternly, but Josh only smiled; he always smiled when Chris tried to be firm with him. "You're not going to be saying that 48 hours from now," he said.

"We'll see," Josh said. His smile widened. "Besides, I have a theory."

Chris turned over again—into Josh this time—and pressed his face against the front of his boyfriend's shirt, letting his eyes fall shut. "Mmm?" he prompted.

Josh's arms wrapped around him as he explained: "I have a theory that I'm immune to all Chris cooties. You get sick literally all the time— " Chris started to protest, but Josh persisted. "You have the immune system of a newborn baby, honestly, and I've never once caught anything from you. No matter how many times I breathe your gross air."

Chris meant to reply, but he was starting to drift off in Josh's embrace, and he settled for a mildly annoyed grunt instead. Before he could fully lose consciousness, a thought jerked him awake again.

"Hey," Chris muttered, his voice thick. "Did you take your meds today?"

"Yes, sir."

"And did you eat and stuff?" he pried, really starting to slur now.

"Yes, dude, relax," Josh scoffed. "Let me take of you for once." Chris made a disbelieving noise that was mostly in jest, and Josh jostled him slightly. "Don't be an asshole," he warned.

Chris chuckled, snuggling further into Josh's warmth. He pulled back briefly to kiss a bit of collarbone that was just barely visible above the other boy's shirt. "Love you, too," he said.

And then finally gave in to sleep.

When Chris woke up, Josh was gone. He frowned at the bedroom's sudden chill, wondering if Josh's body heat could really be that intense, and then opened his eyes to see that it was dark outside.

"Damn it," he cursed. It had been mid-afternoon when Josh came in. Chris fumbled for the lamp switch on the bedside table, destroying Wrapper Mountain in the process. The light was harsh on his tired eyes, but he squinted around for his glasses and phone, instinctively pressing the home button when he found the latter.

An unfamiliar picture flashed on his lock screen: a selfie of Josh, arm muscles flexed and eyebrows raised suggestively. At the bottom of the picture was a caption in large, chunky text: U LIKE THAT?

Chris sighed—Josh rarely passed up an opportunity to fuck with his phone—and registered the time before the screen winked out on him: 8:13 p.m. Not terrible. He'd probably still be up all night, but it was better than waking up at one in the morning.

He hoisted himself lazily out of bed before his brain realized something else. His nose was still mostly clogged, but he thought he smelled… Was that soup? And the more pressing question: Was Josh cooking?

Chris curled a blanket around his shoulders and shuffled into the kitchen. Chill electronic music drifted from the middle of the room, where Josh's laptop sat on the counter, and in front of the stove stood Josh, bobbing his head to the beat over a large, steaming pot.

He was too distracted by the music to notice Chris lingering on the outskirts of the room, and Chris allowed himself a moment to stare before he just couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"Dude," he said. "Are you—cooking?"

Josh jumped a little, and when his eyes landed on Chris, he looked downright embarrassed.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," Josh said lightly, his cheekbones tinged with a faint blush. "I was starting to wonder if you'd ever wake up."

"Yeah, sorry." Chris' tone was absentminded, and he wandered closer to the pot, trying to peer inside. Josh casually sidestepped to block his view, and Chris let his eyes wander around the kitchen, noticing the cutting board had vegetable remains scattered across it. And now that he was closer to the source, the air smelled a lot like chicken. He looked back at Josh and bit his bottom lip to keep a big, goofy grin off his face.

"It's nothing, seriously," Josh said preemptively, and Chris couldn't hold it back; he let himself smile.

"Are you making me chicken noodle soup?" he asked.

Josh ran a hand nervously through his hair and averted his eyes. He nodded.

Chris closed the gap between them and wrapped his blanketed arms around Josh, leaning his head on the brunette's shoulder. "God, that is the cutest thing."

"No," Josh whined, trying to writhe out of Chris' arms. "I'm not cute. You're cute. I mean—stop distracting me."

Josh twisted to face the stove and Chris relinquished his hold, if only so the other boy could continue stirring. "We have soup in the cabinet, you know," he said, referring to the endless packets of ramen they devoured on an all-too-regular basis. Josh wrinkled his nose.

"Shit's not good for you," he said.

"Never seemed to stop us before," Chris teased, and Josh just grumbled. Chris decided to leave it at that; the redness that seemed permanently etched onto his boyfriend's cheeks was more than enough satisfaction for Chris. For now.

He settled himself at the kitchen table and watched as his boyfriend carefully poured the soup and brought it over to him in a steaming bowl. "One sec," Josh said, before rushing back to grab a bottle of mineral water from the fridge.

Chris' cheeks were sore from grinning at this point, but he managed a small frown at the sight of the water bottle. Josh had many weaknesses, and stupidly expensive water was one of them; he might he able to afford these weaknesses, but it never failed to remind Chris that he couldn't. "Water comes out of our faucet, you know," he said, in a light enough tone that Josh—always sensitive, even if he didn't want to be—would know that Chris didn't really mind. "Just pours right out."

Josh gave him a bigger frown and said, "This'll help."

Chris opened the bottle and brought it to his lips with a smirk. "What a thoughtful caretaker you are," he teased.

Ignoring the remark, Josh poured the rest of the soup into a bowl for himself and sat in the chair nearest Chris, fidgeting nervously. Chris felt his boyfriend's eyes on him as he held a spoonful in front of mouth and blew gently on the broth to cool it down. The warmth and smell alone were enough to make Chris feel better, and he figured it wouldn't be a total loss if the soup turned out to be awful. It wasn't, though, and he made a small noise of surprise as the first spoonful slid down his throat. Josh bit at his lower lip.

"Is it…not terrible?" he asked.

Chris would've lied if it was, but he was glad that he didn't have to. "Definitely not terrible," he confirmed. "And you didn't even set off the fire alarm."

Josh shook his head, smiling ruefully. "One time, man."

"A time that no one in this building will ever forget," Chris said, "primarily because it was two in the morning. On a Tuesday."

"Pretty sure it was a Wednesday," Josh argued.

"Ah, right. Because everyone knows lasagna is only good at two a.m. On Wednesdays."

"Damn fucking straight," Josh said, and they looked at each other for a moment before Josh nudged him with his foot. "Eat your soup, asshole."

They slurped in silence, Chris gulping his down with embarrassing speed. He'd barely eaten anything all day, and the food triggered something that made his body realize how hungry it was. Plus, the soup was just really damn good.

He slumped back in the chair when he was done, burrowing deeper into the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and watched while Josh finished. Josh was never good with food —cooking or eating. He picked at it and pushed it around, and when he did eat with any sort of regularity, the pace was agonizingly slow. Chris didn't mind.

Josh noticed Chris' eyes on him and the tips of his ears reddened. "Don't you want to like, look at your phone or something?"

"Nope."

Josh rolled eyes before glancing at Chris with a somewhat wary expression. "Are you going back to sleep after this?" he asked.

"Heck no," Chris said. "I just spent the whole afternoon asleep. I'll probably be up till the crack of dawn."

"Oh." Chris noticed his leg start to shake rhythmically under the table. "Do you want to watch a movie then?"

"Sure," Chris agreed. "Whatever you want."

"Cool." Josh scooped up their empty bowls and brought them to the sink. "Cool, cool. I'm going to go put on my pajamas… Wait for me in the other room?"

Chris nodded, and Josh scampered off to their bedroom before Chris had even gotten himself out of the chair. He wondered vaguely if something was bothering his boyfriend—he seemed more on-edge than usual. Chris made a mental note to ask him about it later.

Then he walked into the other room, and his jaw dropped.

Josh had transformed their bare living room into the largest blanket fort Chris had ever seen. It stretched from one end of the room to the other. Inside, blankets and pillows—an obscene amount of pillows, really—were arranged in a sort of nest, and Josh had lowered the TV to the floor for ease of viewing. Their main light was switched off, Chris noticed, but Christmas lights hung around the outside of the fort, bathing everything in a soft, warm glow.

Chris barely registered the sound of Josh's bare feet padding down the hallway, and he jumped when Josh's voice came from right behind him.

"So…also not terrible?"

Chris turned to stare at Josh in amazement. There were a lot of things he wanted to say right then, but somehow the only thing he could manage was, "You built us a fucking love nest."

"Um, first of all, it's a blanket fort," Josh said defensively. He looked at his handiwork and scratched at the back of his head, looking a little sheepish. "And second of all, this seemed a lot less lame when I was plotting it a few hours ago."

"This is so…" Chris really couldn't find the words. "This is the least lame thing you've ever done. Will ever do. This is… Jesus, come here."

Chris wrapped the blanket over both their heads. Josh pretended to choke and sputter as it tangled around them. When it settled, Chris pressed their foreheads together, and Josh smiled modestly.

"It's a little gay," he said.

"Oh, it's super gay," Chris agreed. "But I'm kind of in love with it. And with you." Josh made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a snort and tried to pull his head back, but Chris held his chin gently. "Seriously." He couldn't help the way his eyes fell to Josh's lips just then, and even though he knew it was a bad idea, he found himself asking, "Permission to kiss?"

Josh's eyes were already starting to close when he said, "Permission granted."

Their lips met. It tasted mostly of soup, which was new and kind of gross, but Chris didn't mind, and Josh didn't seem to either. Kissing like this—when both of them it wasn't going any further—was nice. It felt quiet and warm and safe, and Chris was smiling when they pulled back.

Josh ducked out of the blanket and unveiled Chris with him. "Running out of air in there." He took Chris' hand and pulled him into the fort. "Come on."

They settled into the blankets, where Chris noticed a pile of DVDs and—he had to blink before he convinced himself it was real—a small bundle of wine and chocolate. The fancy shit, naturally.

"Oh, man," Chris said. "You know I can't have this tonight, right? I'd probably puke."

"I know," Josh conceded. "But I figured we might keep this up for a few nights, so…"

"You figured, huh?" Chris said, and he could swear he felt his stupid heart flutter when Josh's cheeks reddened.

"I mean, if you don't want to, I guess I'll just have to finish all this myself," Josh said, reaching over to tear open a chocolate bar. "Which is just such a travesty." He broke off a square and popped it into his mouth, waggling his eyebrows.

Damn. Chris wasn't sure if it was Josh or the chocolate that looked appetizing, but either way, he was suddenly game. "Okay," he said. "Maybe one square won't kill me."

"Atta boy." Josh handed him a square, ruffled his hair, and leaned forward to grab the DVDs. He fanned them out in his hands; they were all comedies, and all Chris' favorites. He picked Monty Python and the Holy Grail to start, and when Josh disentangled himself to set it up, Chris noticed that his shirt was unusually big.

"Hey," Chris protested. "I thought you said you were putting on your pajamas, not mine."

Josh glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. "Same difference, right?" The TV screen lit up and he came back, throwing arm over Chris' shoulder and pulling the blonde into him. Chris wanted to make more of a fuss about the shirt, just to be a shit about it, but Josh sensed what was coming and shoved another piece of chocolate into Chris' mouth. "Shh," he chided. "Movie's starting."

They made it through Monty Python and most of Zoolander—sinking further into their nest as time passed—before Chris' eyelids started to grow heavy. He rubbed his palms over his face. "Man, I really thought I'd have more stamina than this."

"Things you also said the first time we had sex," Josh said, snorting at his own joke. "I tease," he amended a moment later. "It goes without saying that you have terrific stamina."

Chris grumbled, but he was too tired to say anything witty in response. All these pillows were just too damn comfortable, and he let himself sink into them, feeling light as a feather.

Chris could breathe again. He woke up, still wrapped up with Josh, and noticed that he could actually fucking breathe through his nose. It was, he decided in that moment, a truly beautiful feeling. He searched through the blankets for his phone, ignored its low battery warning, and checked the time. 9:56 a.m.

Well, he thought, already missed one class. Might as well miss them all. He tossed the phone aside and turned his attention to Josh, who lay flat on his back beside him. He was sleeping soundly, head thrown back lazily onto one of the pillows. His mouth hung open just slightly, and his shirt—Chris' shirt—was rucked up over his stomach. Chris knew that he shouldn't, but he leaned down anyway, pressing kisses to Josh's stomach. His hands splayed out Josh's sides, and his skin felt hot under Chris' touch. For someone so small and lean, this kid was like a fucking furnace.

Josh squirmed a little and lifted his head. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled sleepily at Chris. "Hey," he muttered.

"Hey." Chris moved up to kiss Josh's neck, and the brunette let out a small moan in response.

"Someone's feeling better this morning," he said.

"Mmm." Chris sucked just a little, and he was pleased to hear Josh's breath catch in his throat. "I think you cured my ailments."

"Really?"

"Really."

He pulled his mouth away from Josh's neck and felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist.

"Not so fast, Cochise," Josh said, his voice still husky from sleep. Chris shuddered as Josh's hands slid under his shirt, trailing up and down his back before dipping underneath his waistband. He gripped Chris' ass and pressed the blonde flush against him. Their pajamas weren't all that thick, and Chris—smug just a second ago—found himself in danger of making a noise.

Josh lifted his head from the pillow to capture Chris' lips in a kiss, and noises were suddenly the last thing on his mind.

Josh was right. They did keep the fort up. And after that morning, he stopped griping so much when Chris called it a love nest.

The next evening, after Chris had caved in and gone to his classes for the day, he and Josh were back on the floor. They'd mostly depleted their supply of fancy snacks, but now that they'd discovered the wonders of playing video games in a blanket fort, there was no going back.

Chris sat in between Josh's outstretched legs, leaning back against the brunette's chest as they raced in Mario Kart. They never teamed up—it was far less interesting that way—but Josh had a nasty habit of trying to whack the controller out of Chris' hands whenever his lead got too big. Chris was edging into first place, gripping his controller tightly, when Josh sniffled for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Crying because I'm kicking your ass?" Chris asked.

Josh sniffed again and released a red shell, which Chris smoothly deflected with a banana. "No," Josh said. He paused the game and wiggled out from behind Chris. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?"

"To get a— " Josh cut himself off. "Nowhere."

"Are you going to get a tissue?" Chris shouted after him. "Are you going to get a tissue because you're fucking sick?"

Chris heard the distinctive sound of Josh blowing his nose before he yelled, "No!" Raising his voice made him cough, and Chris followed the sounds of Josh's hacking to the bathroom, where he found his boyfriend sitting on the closed toilet seat, a box of tissues in his lap. His lower lip protruded in a pout.

"You kissed me first," he complained.

"With your permission, Mr. I'm Immune to Chris' Cooties."

Josh just groaned and buried his face in his hands. Chris clucked his tongue and pulled him to his feet, setting the box of tissues on the sink.

"C'mere, you big baby." He pulled Josh into his arms, and Josh sank into them, burying his face in Chris' chest. Chris gave him a gentle squeeze. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

Josh looked up at him and smiled weakly. "Do you still have some of those cough drops?"