Author's Note: For a friend who really isn't feeling well. Unfortunately I can't be with you, but you know I wish I could :(

The doorbell rings and Castiel suppresses a groan as he hauls himself to his feet. The room feels like it's sliding sideways, but he grabs his guitar case and answers, feigning a grin for Lysander.

"Ready to go?"

Perceptive as ever, Lysander's brows furrow. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He's trying his hardest not to sound hoarse, but the cough medicine only stops that— the coughing.

Lysander reaches forward without hesitation and presses the back of his hand to Castiel's cheek, clicking his tongue in soft critique and Castiel knows it's over. "Mm, fever. You're sick."

"A little." Castiel winces.

Lysander frowns, moves to palm his forehead. "You should've told me."

"It's not a big deal," Castiel protests. He feels about as vigorous as a dried sardine and his head is pounding, but he's not about to ruin Lysander's night. "Come on, let's go. This is the first time we've had a gig in awhile, we don't wanna be late."

"No," Lysander says simply, taking his hand back. "I'll call. They'll understand."

"But—"

Lysander puts a finger to his lips. "You sound like you've been through a shredder, so don't waste your voice arguing."

Castiel almost argues anyway. He feels contrary and inconvenienced, but he's also too exhausted and achy to put forth the effort arguing with Lysander will take, which makes him realize that he can't possibly have the stamina for playing tonight anyway and that beneath his obdurateness, he's relieved he won't have to try.

Shoulders slumping, he nods and heads back inside. Lysander follows, shutting the door. Castiel puts the guitar down and plods to his room, and it takes a minute for him to get over the chills enough to change into something more comfortable. When he stumbles back to the living room, Lysander's hanging up his phone.

"You cancelled?"

"Yes."

Castiel exhales a low sigh. "I'm sorry."

Lysander shakes his head. "It's hardly your fault you're sick. Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Nah. I'm just gonna lay down." He rubs his temples, willing the pain away to no avail. "I'll see you later."

"I'm not leaving you alone," murmurs Lysander, gaze glinting with concern.

Castiel lets himself sink back into the couch. "Lysander, I'm fine. It's New Year's Eve. You should still go out. Party, have fun. It only comes once a year. Trust me, you'd rather celebrate with everybody and pop the champagne than be here with me and my cough syrup."

"Nonsense." Lysander softly treads over and takes Castiel by the hands, pulling him to his feet. He gently steers him down the hall and to his room, ushering him into bed. Climbing in, he pulls up the blankets and wraps his arms around Castiel, holding him close.

"I could be contagious," Castiel warns, but he doesn't push him away.

"I'll risk it."

Castiel tucks himself into Lysander, nestling his face into his chest, inhaling his steady heartbeat as serene silence slopes into the rest of the room. Lysander lightly rests his chin atop his head and tenderly strokes his fingers through his sweat-damp hair. He's out cold by the time the new year begins, a much more peaceful rest than the fitful, shallow doze he'd taken alone.