The Brit awoke startled, his face flushed and coated with a cold sweat, lingering uncomfortably on his skin. He whipped off the covers, aching for air to flow through his clamped lungs. He quickly sat up, leaning slightly over the side of the bed to relieve the feeling of suffocating beneath the bedsheets. The burning on his skin was unbearable. He hastily yanked off his shirt, feeling the surprisingly cold air tingle his skin, in a relieving way. Immediately there was a grumble from the other side of the bed.

Arthur was relieved to remember it was only Alfred who was in his bed, murmuring complaints. But at the same time, his cheeks quickly stained red with embarrassment.

'Artie… you totally just… ruined my dream…' The tired American muttered, groggily sitting up and pulling off the covers that had been flung in his face. He brought up his hands to wipe the sleep out of his own eyes, and as his vision cleared, he noticed the discomforted look Arthur had.

'You okay?' Alfred murmured, reaching a hand out to touch the Brit's trembling shoulder. Arthur quietly dismissed Alfred's worry, hurriedly nodding his head and assuring the American he was okay.

'Don't worry - just go back to sleep.' Arthur said hastily, gently brushing off the hand on his shoulder, letting it fall numbly to the tangled bedsheets. Alfred whined, unsatisfied with the feigned assurance of the Brit.

The American suddenly took Arthur's arm, tugging him into a warm hug.

'You've already woken me up now…' Alfred said stubbornly, delicately pulling away from the embrace and placing a sloppy, tired kiss on Arthur's forehead. Alfred slowly pulled his lips away, noticing the burning of Arthur's skin – he quickly brought a hand to brush over his forehead.

'You're burning up.' The American muttered, waking up slightly more as he worried about Arthur. There were a few incoherent protests from the flustered Brit, who was trying to scramble out of his reach.

'I'm f-fine.' He flustered, embarrassed by his own lack of clothing in front of Alfred.

'Artie, your forehead is literally boiling.' He stated, bringing a hand to hastily brush away the messy hair falling into Arthur's eyes. 'I don't think that's fine.'

The Brit's cheeks burned deeper, even feeling his vision go blurry with all the heat building up beneath his skin – but whether that was because he was embarrassed or genuinely ill, he didn't know. His breathing began to sharply cut off, raggedly huffing air in and out.

'Alfred… I'm… fine…' He forced out, feeling his consciousness slowly slipping away, edging into the darkness known as his dreams.

'Artie..?' He clung onto the fading words, eyes fluttering closed as he heard the American's panicked voice calling his name again, 'Artie?'

Alfred's worried blue eyes were all that he could think of before his mind blanked, and faded into a dark silence.

Alfred quickly scurried for his phone, dialling the one number that he always knew from the top of his head. As soon as it picked up, he burst into a mess of words, out of breath and in a panic.

'Kiku, please come over quick! I know it's early in the morning, but Arthur's not waking up! He was really sweaty and he has a fever and-'

'S-slow down, Alfred. I can't understand what you're saying.' Kiku replied on the other end, to which there was almost a pitiful cry of distress on the other end. 'Calm down and tell me what's happening.'

'A-Arthur woke me up by accident all sweaty and red in the face – so then when I felt his forehead, it was really boiling and- and he fainted and he won't wake up at all.' He spluttered, not really any more clear than earlier, but somehow Kiku heard. His only response was a sharp and quick 'I'll be right there.'

Alfred was on the brim of tears as he waited impatiently for Kiku to arrive. He paced around the room, before he sat down and touched Arthur's forehead again - and then he paced around again and grabbed a snack from a fridge. He repeated this several times, trying to untwist his aching stomach.

As glad as he was that Kiku was so willing to help, he just wished he would hurry the hell up!

As if Kiku had heard this, there was a hasty door knock, to which Alfred scrambled to it, flinging the door wide open. He hadn't realised, but apparently those tears had escaped.

'A-Alfred-'

'Arthur's in the bedroom.' He interrupted, genuinely not caring for what Kiku had to say – it didn't matter right now. His voice was cracking as he spoke, and so Kiku quickly hurried to the bedroom, not thinking much of the interruption as he understood how upset Alfred was.

The small Japanese man, reached over and placed a hand on Arthur's forehead, quite shocked to see such a high fever. He then brought his hand in front of Arthur's slightly open mouth – feeling his faint but very jagged breath slipping out. Kiku quickly searched through his bag, pulling out a digital thermometer and placed it under Arthur's armpit – waiting patiently.

Kiku continued these sort of checks to see exactly what was ailing Arthur, as Alfred watched cluelessly. He felt his pride sink, all the way down to the bottom of the ocean, as he thought what a terrible boyfriend he was.

He was useless at something so simple as checking for fevers. If he hadn't had Kiku, what would he have done? Call the hospital, sure - but that didn't change the fact that Alfred should know these things, as part of his duty to Arthur. He knew that if he himself had ever come down with something, Arthur would know exactly what to do. Knowing him, he would do all the things necessary with a little extra too. And that felt horrible. Even Kiku was a better boyfriend tha-

'Alfred-san, it's nothing to worry about.' The soft voice suddenly spoke. Alfred blinked out of his thoughts and stared at the confident face, strong, even with such a gentle voice. The American sighed, not surprised at the fact Kiku was, as always, very good at reading the atmosphere as well as people's thoughts.

'It's just a flu.' Kiku continued, 'all he needs are some tablets – I would give you some but I don't h-'

'It's fine.' Alfred insisted, gaze concentrated on Arthur's sleeping face – it wasn't as calm as it normally would be. His face was flushed, drenched in sweat, and his lashes flitting open slightly every so often. Alfred could only assume he was drifting in and out of consciousness, only for seconds at a time. 'I'll run to the store and get some.'

Kiku nodded, presenting the assurance he needed. Alfred hesitantly spoke again, pulling his gaze away from the unconscious Brit, 'You're… You're sure it's just the flu, right?'

'Of course.' He smiled supportively. Kiku gently packed away the things he had brought (why was he always so prepared?) and bowed politely.

'I hope you… don't mind if I leave. I can stay if you like.'

'No, uh… that's fine.' No, it wasn't, 'Um… Thank you.' Alfred replied back, holding back his insecurities of failure when taking care of Arthur.

'You're welcome.' Kiku said courteously, following Alfred guide to the front door (even though Kiku knew where it was.) The reached the door and Alfred waved him goodbye, receiving a promise of calling to check up and a polite wave back.

When the American shut the door, he leaned against it for a moment, sighing heavily. He dragged himself to the bedroom again, finding Arthur half awake. He was sitting up on the bed, rubbing his eyes and coughing a few times. Those bright green eyes flickered to meet Alfred's and his lips couldn't help but form a smile.

The American scurried over, forcing him into a tight embrace (even though Alfred was kind of hugging Arthur's head and shoulders, since he was standing)

'Hah, Alfred… as much as… I'd love to… hug you, I c-can't breathe much.' He said somewhat raspy – to which Alfred quickly pulled away, guilt written all over his face. He paused for a moment, unable to say anything as his eyes stung. Tears began to pool in his eyes and roll down his cheeks, his response only coming out as a choked cry.

'Alfred-' Arthur burst into a cough, forcibly swallowing it down to continue. He reached up and took Alfred's hand, pulling him into a weak hug nonetheless. 'Hey, I'm… I'm fine, you don't have-'

'I'm s-sorry I'm a terrible boyfriend...' Alfred sobbed, burying his head in the crook of Arthur's neck for only a moment. Alfred immediately pulled away from the embrace when he heard a struggled intake of breathe from Arthur. He brought the back of his hands to wipe his tears away sloppily.

'What… gave you… that idea?' Arthur said, pausing for breaths.

'Because… I can't even let you breathe..! I– I should-' He stopped abruptly as remembered the medicine he was meant to have gotten for Arthur – and now he felt far worse, 'I forg- I going to get you some medicine.'

'Wait,' He snatched Alfred sleeve just before he was going to escape, almost being toppled off the bed. Alfred caught him, gently stabling him back on the bed. 'I-I'll be right back.' He croaked, tears dry on his cheeks now.

Arthur watched him leave, unsure of what had happened just in that moment.

God, I'm so childish, Alfred thought as he waited in line at the pharmacy. He had left Arthur all alone in the apartment, and now his stomach couldn't stop churning with guilt. I really am horrible. What kind of boyfriend storms off in a sulk, leaving their sick partner alone?

He shook his head solemnly, stepping forward in the queue as another finished their purchase. Just get the medicine, he scolded himself.

When he finally reached the counter and was forced to escape his self-hate, he bought whatever it was the cashier suggested for a bad flu, not caring how much of his wallet was taken. He walked home, still feeling upset about himself - even though he really was trying his best.

His best just wasn't enough.

He rounded the corner, reaching their house with a loud sigh. He kind of didn't want to go back.

As he reluctantly edged closer he saw a figure outside the house, walking towards the street. Alfred quickly realised it was Arthur as he caught a glimpse of his clothes. He was dressed messily in a red crinkled shirt, his favourite leather jacket slung over, and a pair of dark jeans, loosely shaped around his thin legs. Arthur's face was still red with illness and his mouth was partly open to breathe through. Alfred quickly began catching up to him, upset that he had even thought of leaving the house in such a condition – he has a fever for god's sake!

'Arthur!' he yelped, to which the Brit caught his gaze. Arthur almost choked on himself, attempting to call back but failing – his voice hurt.

'What… are you doing… outside?' Alfred panted out, standing tiredly in front of him. Arthur said nothing for a moment and flung himself against him, again, weakly hugging him.

'I… got worried… that you weren't going to… come back…' He breathed out, gasping for air in the cold outside.

'N-no, why would I… do that…?' Alfred wrapped his arms around him (trying his best to be gentle, so to not suffocate him like last time), feeling tears threaten again. It was stupid. It was stupid that he was crying over something like this.

'Because you're an idiot…' Arthur choked out, still lacking in breath.

'You're… the one stepping outside the house with a flu.' He muttered back, easily feigning his worry as something less. Alfred held the embrace for only another moment before he reluctantly pulled away, taking Arthur's cold hand and pulling him back inside the house. He treaded down the path, pacing at a slow walk for Arthur as they made their way back to warmth. As they got inside, Alfred reached and placed a hand on Arthur's forehead – he's still boiling.

He couldn't help but frown at that (not that he had magically expected Arthur to heal but still.) Arthur quickly noticed the expression and he gently placed his hand over Alfred's, tugging it away. He then leaned in, managing a quick kiss on the American's frowning lips. Alfred leaned into the contact of Arthur's warm lips, relishing in them before Arthur had to pull away for breath.

'Come on, let's get you changed.' Alfred said, easily hiding his concerns over Arthur and the worth of himself as a lover.

Alfred had gently helped Arthur - who had refused a lot in a fluster, beforehand - change into comfortable pyjamas. After he slid the grey long sleeve over Arthur's torso, the flustered Brit spoke in a soft tone.

'Earlier… w-when you said that you were a terrible boyfriend…' he paused, taking a breather (his breathing was actually improving, but he was still nonetheless having trouble) which Alfred took as a chance to stop the conversation.

'It's fine, Ar-'

'N-No, it's not.' He quickly interrupted, his sharp gaze capturing Alfred's gentle blue ones. 'I need you to know that it's not true.'

There was a quiet pause between the two – Alfred was reluctant to respond and Arthur knew nothing else to say. But even so, Arthur kept his eyes locked – maybe, by looking him in the eyes, Alfred would understand how completely honest he was being. But the American flicked his eyes away, casting them downwards with shame.

'I'm sor-'

'Don't say sorry… Just believe me when I say…' Arthur interrupted himself with a quick ticklish kiss to the corner of the American's lip, having to balance on his tip-toes to reach. 'You're a wonderful boyfriend.'

Alfred managed hold back his pitiful tears and wrapped his arms around Arthur, hiding his face in his shoulder. It was quiet for a moment before the Brit spoke again.

'Say you believe me.' Arthur insisted, finding his voice was still sore and coarse. Alfred froze, not wanting to say it. He didn't really believe it.

But he didn't distrust Arthur's words either. He loved him too much.

'I…' he muffled into the grey shirt he was slowly soaking with straying tears, 'I believe you.'

'Good.' Arthur held on longer, sliding his hand up and down Alfred's back soothingly. 'Don't worry about those kinds of things ever again.'

He pressed his nose into the crook Alfred's neck too, only barely smelling the soft scent of his shampoo (his sense of smell was just about functioning with the flu.) Blond stray locks tickled his pale neck as the American sniffled, which there were a few quiet hiccups of Alfred's crying that made his shoulders bounce.

It took a few minutes before Alfred composed himself, pulling away with sloppy attempts to wipe away what was a flood of tears. Arthur couldn't help but smile – he was such a child. But he loved him.

Arthur reached up to his glasses, gently pulling them away, surprising the teary-eyed American. He folded the frames, placing them in Alfred's hands for a moment, before he brushed his thumb across his cheek, wiping away the trails of tears. Arthur then cupped his jaw, pulling him down for a chaste kiss, which he held for as long as he could manage. When he pulled away, he couldn't describe the overwhelming feeling of seeing Alfred sprout into a beautiful shy smile.

'I-I should... probably get you s-some medicine.' Alfred muttered, focusing his attention on Arthur's health again as he slipped he glasses on.

'For yourself too,' Arthur added, gaining a confused look from America, 'I've probably given you my flu by now.'

He heard a soft snicker from the American and he no longer felt so ill.

'I don't think I mind.'