"Are you sniffling?"
"No."
Francis smiled when the other coughed:
"Gavin, did you catch a cold?"
"Bugger off."
"Oh mon ami, if your mother would know …"
"What, she is not already here? Cuz you sound like her."
The Frenchman threw a judging look in his direction, even though the young scot wouldn't see it. It was almost pitch black in the room, the moon barely lighting it.
"Shit, I'm cold" Gavin muttered and the other looked at him again before getting up and walking to his bed.
"Scoot over."
"What for?"
"Just make room."
Grumbling, the scot shuffled closer to the wall, Francis lying down beside him.
Gavin cocked an eyebrow when the Frenchman wrapped his arms around him:
"First saying I'm ill and now you come and cuddle?"
"I can't let mon ami freeze."
He buried his face in the red hair and sighed.
The scot let out a small "Heh":
"Your ami, hm?"
"… oui."
"I wondered over the last time, you know? It's okay."
"You mean it's okay if I have a crush on you? That is mutually understanding?"
"That's not the only thing mutual here."
He paused shortly: "You know, I-I'd kiss you and stuff, but then both of us would be ill, so … that gotta wait."