Jeff was currently in tears, and Nick really couldn't blame him. Nick could barely stand living a couple of hundred miles from his family – he couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like living almost exactly 10,000 miles from them.

Plus, Jeff had been sick on and off for the last month, catching cold after cold from Nick himself (who'd turned into a germ incubator as the gluten had begun trashing his immune system, but that was a different story), running himself to the ground looking after him. In one of those incredibly rare periods where Nick wasn't confined to bed with illness or horrifying stomach cramps that left him very sympathetic towards the few female friends he had – Nick was glad to be able to look after his boyfriend.

Well, not glad, he wouldn't wish illness on anyone. But if Jeff were to get sick, then Nick was happy he was finally able to care for him like Jeff had been so amazing at doing himself.

But now he'd walked back into the room to find Jeff crying. And while Nick could understand why, he would dearly love to know what had set this off.

Jeff had been happy five minutes ago. Well, not so much happy as completely off his face on cold medication…

"Nicky, you look like Babar. But the clowns on my doona say you look like Johnson. But you're not pink and fluffy, you're grey, can you come and show them that you look more like Dalton's porridge?"

… Okay, maybe he did have an odd nose…

No! Now was not the time to get self-conscious! Jeff was crying!

"Heatchoo! Heatchoo!"

And sneezing. Nick plucked yet another tissue from the box by the bed, cleaning Jeff's eyes before crawling back under the covers behind him.

"Babe. What's wrong? Can you tell me?"

Jeff shook his head. "It's silly." He tugged on Nick's shoulder, shivering into his warm arms.

"Sweetie, I want to help. Please, talk to me." Nick pulled him tighter, one hand tracing the fuzzy two-day-old stubble popping on Jeff's chin.

"Well…" Jeff sighed. "When you went to the loo, I went to make some Milo, but I couldn't get the lid off. And then I… I…" He drew in a breath and dropped to a whisper. "I ate the last of the Nutella."

Part 4 of my Warbler drabble series. I'm honestly not sure why I don't just mash these all together...

Like it? Hate it? Want me to get lost in a boulder sieve? Please let me know!

Keep smiling! :D