05/25/2015

A/N: So I never update because school has ALL these POINTLESS projects…

Buuuuut I'm back now! I hope…

( Y/F/T = your favorite tea, and Y/C/N = your cheesy nickname, Y/F/S = your favorite show :) )

Luke: "Hey Y/N," Luke, your best friend, walks in through the front door of your house. He hands you a cup of green tea.

"Thanks," you say to him, your voice raspy. You had a terrible cold and had been stuck in bed for the past three days. Luke had been taking time off of recording for his band's album to come see you and do anything to make you feel better.

"No problemo," he says, plopping on the couch next to you. "That's French for 'no problem'," he adds, giving you a goofy grin.

"It's actually Spanish, you idiot," you giggle, throwing a clean tissue at his face.

He scrunches his face up in disgust, which only causes your giggling to turn into full-blown laughing. "At least I'm your idiot," he says, sarcasm clearly there. You roll your eyes and look back at the TV screen.

Mean Girls was playing!

"You do realize that this is my favorite movie?" he says, raising a blond eyebrow. You smile and nod, not bothering to speak. It hurt, and he wasn't even watching anymore.

Before long you feel your eyelids drooping. "Luke?" you mumble, almost sure he can't hear you.

"Yeah?" he says, giving you a single glance.

"I'm–" you get interrupted by a yawn "–sleepy…" and with that, your eyes close and sleep overcomes you.

Calum: "When do you think you're getting better?" Calum whines, handing you a sugar cookie. You hold it with both hands, enjoying the warmth of the freshly baked treat.

"I already told you–" Your body shakes with a heavy fit of coughs. Sighing, you shake your head and sink lower into your bed.

"It just really hurts to see you like…" he gives you a strange look, a smile pulling the corners of his lips up, "Trash."

You gasp in mock hurt, checking your outfit. Last time you checked, onesies were not ugly. "Well, sorry," you say, rolling your eyes and shoving him playfully.

"You want to go there?" Calum says mischievously, his wiggling his thick eyebrows. He's about to lunge and tickle you when another coughing fit overcomes you. You put your head in your left elbow and hold out your right hand to stop him.

"Just in time," you say weakly, attempting to smile. You weren't really feeling it.

"Y/N…" Calum sighs sympathetically, giving you a side hug. You snuggle into his side and smile lazily.

"Let's just play Mad Libs or something," You give him a poke in the side and grab the Mad Libs you'd been playing for hours.

"Wow, you're so old school," Calum says, but picks up a pencil and starts listing off things he needs. You give him a bunch of random words, the first that come to your head, and laugh when Cal shoots you funny looks.

Michael: "Do you think you're still sick now?" Michael asks, handing you the Y/F/T that you had requested twenty minutes before.

Sighing, you give him your most innocent look. "Yes, Mikey, I still have a fever," you say, taking a sip. It's almost too hot to drink, but seeing as you were feeling feverish, it felt okay on your tongue.

"But there's no one to play Call Of Duty with," he whines, throwing himself onto one of your recliners.

You giggle at his childishness, which only causes him to glare at you. You start giggling uncontrollably, against your own will.

"Okay, I don't see what's so funny Y/N…" Michael mutters, shooting you a glance. "Oh shoot," he exclaims, grabbing a wet towel from your bed side table and pressing it up against your head.

Something wet was dripping from your forehead, and you figured it was probably sweat mixed with the water on the towel.

"Michael," you sing-song, earning yourself a worried look from the boy, "I want to go dancing with those unicorns over there," you point to a corner of the room, where you are hallucinating unicorns.

"Y/C/N there are no unicorns," Michael says, chuckling a little. "You need to rest. Like seriously. As much as I hate it." he says, tucking a blanket around your waist.

You shoot him a confused look, just as a wave of dizziness washes over you. "Wheeeeeeee," you say, watching as the room whirls around, faster and faster.

"Get well soon," is all that Mike can say before you black out.

Ashton: "Do you need anything else?" Ashton asks, and when you shake your head, he adds, "Are you sure?"

Sighing inwardly, you give him a smile. "Yes, Ash, I'm sure. Besides, I'm sick, not having a party!" You reply, glancing at everything Ashton had set down for you. There was a variety of blankets, your favorite stuffed toy, tea, coffee, cookies, and crackers.

"Okay, but call me if you need anything," he says, offering you a dimpled smile. You nod and make a shooing motion with your hands, turning back to the TV screen. Y/F/S was playing, and you didn't want to miss anything.

Ashton was being a total sweetheart to you, probably because you had a stomach bug. You could barely sleep at night, any you had to go throw up in the bathroom multiple times a day.

You doubted Ashton was sleeping either.

Your stomach twists, and you get up to run to the bathroom. Stumbling through the doorway, you kneel in front of the toilet and retch.

After you're done, you feel someone holding your hair off your face and rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. Smiling slightly, you get up and give Ashton a sloppy hug.

"Shh, you need some rest," he whispers into your hair, attempting to tie a ponytail. You wash your face and hands, and brush your teeth, all the while being watched by him.

Afterwards he tucks you in bed and kisses your forehead, and you giggle at his parent-like behavior. He sticks out his tongue and flicks off the light, leaving the TV at a low volume.