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“You are, without a doubt, the dumbest person I’ve ever met.”
“Have you forgotten who your roommates are?"
Mike Nesmith shook his head, glancing away from you. Your red nose twitched as you sniffled, the sound a gross attempt at clearing your sinuses. You pulled the bed covers up to your chin and gave him a shit-eating grin.
“You know, I never thought you could actually get sick from being out in the rain too long,” you admitted as he came over to you. “Guess I was wrong.”
“Sit up,” he muttered, and you obliged as he fluffed up the pillow and propped it against the headboard. You leaned back to find yourself propped up just enough. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. “Christ, (y/n), you’re burnin’ up. I’m gonna get you a cloth for your forehead.”
“Don’t go,” you whined. “There’s no one in here who’s cute.”
“I could get you a mirror, if that’d help.” He disappeared out the door before you could say anything more.
Did he just say what you think he said? You were too wracked with fever to think too hard about it. The ceiling seemed to move away from you ever so slightly as your mind drifted. You think you heard someone come in, but you were too comfy and tired to acknowledge it. Something cool and damp pressed against your forehead. Your vision came back into focus and you could see Mike muttering to himself, but you couldn’t for the life of you tell what he was saying. You waited for him to pause before you talked.
“I’m not dying, am I?” you asked him.
“I’d hope not, or I’d have to dump your body out of my bed so I could sleep in it.”
“Wait, do you want me to move to the couch?”
“Nah, you’re fine where you are,” you saw the faintest smile cross his face. “I’m just messin’ with you.”
“You never thought I’d be in your bed quite like this, did you,” you couldn’t help but ruin the moment. He sighed, and you felt bad but you still smiled.
“You know I could just let you suffer here,” he reminded you.
“You wouldn’t,” you nearly pleaded, not sure if he was joking. He raised his eyebrows.
“Doin’ okay there, (y/n)? Thought you got soft for a second.” You drew a hand from beneath your mass of covers and smacked his arm lightly, to which he laughed. “Do you want me to stay here?”
“Only if you think you should, or you want to. How’re Davy and Peter?”
“Oh, Peter’s just fine. He’s got Davy in their room because Davy caught somethin’ too, from when you three went out last night. But I think that was a cute way for Peter to tell Davy how he felt.”
“Totally backfired, though,” you pointed out.
“Not really. I mean, he’s sick, but now Davy gets to see how much Peter loves him.”
“Yeah, while he’s all sniffly and shivering.”
“Guess so.” You thought for a moment Mike was about to say something else, but he got up. “If you need anything, just like…yell for me. I’m gonna go work on something.” You barely heard the last part, because your body took that moment to finally fall asleep.
~~~
You woke to someone freaking out. Not Mike, it wasn’t Southern. Who could it be?
“Hey Mike!! Why is (y/n) in your bed?!”
“Take it easy, Mick,” you heard Mike call up, the sound passing through the door left ajar. You opened your eyes to see Micky leaning against the railing. “They’re really sick so I’m lettin’ ‘em sleep in my bed. Same reason Davy’s in Peter’s bed.”
“Because you all have shitty hygiene?” Micky called back. You groaned and sat up, to which Micky turned around. You wiped your forehead, finding that the cloth wasn’t there anymore. “Oh hey, (y/n), how’re you feeling?”
“Sick,” you sank back into your bed. “Did you come in here to nap?”
“Yeah, but if you’re sick I can nap on the couch.”
“Mike’s playing, isn’t he?”
“He’s not too loud right now,” he told you. “Actually, now wouldn’t be a bad time to go hang out with him. Love’s in the air…”
“Okay, Cupid,” you rolled your eyes and threw your pillow at him, which he managed to catch. When you got out of bed, you wobbled a little, but Micky got distracted by something falling off the wall. You picked up a blanket from the floor of the bedroom and draped it over your shoulders as you made it to the stairs.
Carefully, you stepped down the stairs, hand gripping the railing just in case. Mike had his guitar in his lap as he perched on the couch. A half-written-on sheet of beige paper sat on the coffee table and in one hand Mike was scribbling something down. You slowed down even more, thinking he might spot you while he was writing. He suddenly dropped the pencil and played a few chords, a chord progression you half-recognized as either a Chuck Berry or Beatles progression. He sang briefly, only partly in tune with the chords: “I saw when you walked by / The lovelight in your eye.” He paused as the last chord rang out. His brow furrowed. “What the fuck am I gonna do with that? It’s a good line, but where does it go…”
You crept up to him as he repeated the chords. You’d helped him with music before. Usually he turned to you to see if a line or a chord was working, and you could usually tell him if it was (or not, most of the time it wasn’t working). But you were sick and couldn’t help. Supposedly.
A tickling nose threatened to give you away as Mike tried to finish the song’s bridge. You kept it in as he sat in total bewilderment. Suddenly, you thought of something, and without stopping to think how he might take it, you tried out a few more lyrics with your still-sick voice.
“And I knew I must try / To win you as more than a friend,” you offered. You’d placed emphasis on the ‘as’ because of the rhythm, and at that you cringed. But Mike didn’t flinch.
“Well, almost. How about this: ‘And I knew I must try / To win you more than just a friend,’ or something. Hey, that could work!” He glanced up from his song sheet and was surprised to see that it was, in fact, you. “(y/n), if you needed me you could’ve just shouted.”
“Yeah, with what voice?” you snarked, sitting on the coffee table where the paper wasn’t. “I wanna see what you’re working on.”
“Just this little song,” he gestured. “Nothing major.”
“I don’t know about that. Sounds like it’s in major to me.” He shot you a disappointed glare and you shrugged as he kept working. “Sounds pretty good.”
“But it’s not done yet,” he snapped. You folded your arms. “Sorry. I uh, I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t bother you.”
“You weren’t bothering me,” you told him, a little surprised. “You never do.” He brought his eyes to yours.
“No?”
“Mm-mm. I don’t feel completely great right now but if it makes any difference, I’d rather hear you play than be stuck in bed all day.”
“Why don’t you write music?” he suddenly asked. “You just rhyme like nobody’s business. God , you’re good.”
“Well, thank you.” You shrugged with half a smile. “I try.” He plucked at a few of the strings, trying to finger-pick a melody of some kind. You didn’t notice how intently you were watching him until he stopped playing and waved a hand in front of your face.
“You alright there? You might as well come sit by me, if you’re down here. The couch is comfier than the coffee table.” So you plopped down next to him, and suddenly you noticed him scoot a little closer to you than you two would normally sit; you weren’t exactly strangers, but his knee brushed up against yours and you couldn’t help looking over at him.
“I, I don’t wanna get you sick,” you tried to hide your embarrassment by talking, but your voice cracked partway through and you knew he could tell. “I mean I like you and all, but I also worry about your health.”
“I can scoot away if you’re worried,” he offered.
“No,” you replied with too much urgency. His eyes flickered across your face, wondering what exactly had weirded you out. “No, I mean, I’m just saying, it’s, it’s your health, not mine. It’s totally up to you. I think, you know, it’s up to us to take care of ourselves--”
“(y/n),” he leaned his guitar against the side of the couch as he stopped you. He folded his hands and put them in his lap. “Are you okay? You can tell me if something’s up.”
“Well, you normally don’t sit that close to me. I’d like to ask you the same thing.”
“Well, if you wanna know, I was trying to write you a song.”
“For me or about me?”
He stammered, “Well, uh, I mean uh, that is, uh, yes.” You laughed. “I couldn’t figure out any other way to tell you how amazing you are.”
“You could just say I’m amazing. That’s always an option. I like it when people tell me I’m amazing.”
“But that’s not enough,” he insisted, turning to you and leaning an elbow on the back of the couch, supporting his cheek with the same hand. “Sometimes I have to pinch myself because I can’t believe you’re in my life. You’re so...good-looking.”
“Mike, you don’t have to do this,” you told him carefully. “You can play me the song if you want to, you don’t have to tell me everything. I was joking.”
“I wasn’t. You’re beautiful,” his gaze softened, “and smart, and sensitive, and good at what you do, and you’re a good friend to all of us. You make every room you step into just so much kinder and brighter.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” you snarked, feeling the blush rise into your cheeks. “Your music is the one thing that keeps me going. And you’re pretty cute. And,” you turned and leaned in to him, lowering your voice, “if you’re implying what I think you’re implying, I like you too.”
“More than I like you?”
“I don’t know. Wanna see?” His eyes fell to your lips and came back up. He nodded slightly.
You leaned in all the way and kissed him, your hand falling onto his thigh to support yourself. As the two of you kept kissing, he moved onto you so his legs were bent and positioned on both sides of your thighs. He draped his arms over your shoulders as your hands moved to his back, caressing with smooth touches and gentle fingers. A few moments later, he drew back, his breathing labored from the way you’d embraced him.
“I didn’t know you could kiss like that,” he murmured. You grinned up at him, a little surprised.
“Of course I can. This isn’t my first rodeo,” and you kissed his lips a few more times before peppering kisses across his cheeks and nose. He melted into you, an unmanly series of giggles flooding through him. When you finally let up, he buried his face in his hands. “Don’t hide!” you cried, guiding his hands away from his face and putting them onto yours. “It’s okay. Mike, you’re so good to me.”
“Well I was gonna say the same about you,” his cheeks flushed pink as one of his hands fell to your waist. You glanced down at it and back up at him. “Now I don’t know about you,” his voice dropped in volume, even though you knew you were the only ones in the room, “but I think it’s time we got you back to bed.”
One of your eyebrows perked up. “Because I’m still sick or because you want to join me?”
“Aw, whatever. If I get sick, you’ll take care of me. I mean, you will, won’t you?” he looked concerned as he realized he might not know for sure. But you agreed.
“I will. I’m not contagious. At least, I don’t think. Are you willing to take that risk?” you flirted, shooting him a wink.
“Well…” His eyes dropped to your chest. He drew his hands back, folding them shyly into his lap. “Well, maybe not right now.”
“Aw, come on!” you groaned.
“I know, I’m sorry, I got you all wound up,” he apologized profusely, moving back to sit on the coffee table.
“No, it’s no big deal, but what are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna finish this song. I know how I’m gonna finish it. And I know what I’m gonna call it.” He went to grab his guitar, and you shamelessly caught a glimpse of his rear. You didn’t hide the smile on your face as he turned back to you, catching your totally-not-subtle grin of pleasure. “Now what do you think you’re doing?”
“Checking out my boyfriend. Is that a crime?”
“Not in this state it isn’t.” You giggled.
“I’m gonna head back to bed,” you informed him as you got up. “If you’d like, I’ll probably be in there for a while, because you know, I’m still sleepy and all that. If you’re interested…” You let the words hang in the air and you walked away, confidence shining from every bone in your body.
“I love you, (y/n)!” Mike called after you, and you couldn’t help grinning; at this point he was calling to you like you two were on stage, so anyone within a mile could hear you. And you know what? You wanted everyone to know. So you called back to him.
“I love you too!”
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me!”
“Same to you!”
“You’re real special, you know that?”
“I know!”
You found the room empty of anybody, including Micky. Just as you closed the door behind you, you heard Mike trying out lyrics. As you crawled into bed, curling up beneath the clean covers, the new words drifted in from under the crack in the door. “Someone to understand them, / And you just may be the one.”