The sunlight slipped through the curtains, washing the small room in a soft golden glow. Chris blinked awake, sitting up slowly on the couch where he had crashed the night before. His neck ached a little, but when his eyes landed on Taylor sleeping peacefully in bed, he smiled.
She looked much better — her face wasn't as pale, and her breathing was steady. Chris quietly stretched, ran a hand through his messy hair, and made his way to the kitchen.
He opened the cupboards, scanning the shelves. "Okay, Taylor," he muttered under his breath, "what does a sick girl eat? Cereal… maybe?" He found a box and poured it into a bowl, adding milk, trying to make it look at least a little decent.
When he returned to her room, Taylor was awake, sitting up against the pillows, her hair messy and her voice sleepy. "You're… making breakfast now?" she asked, her tone somewhere between surprised and amused.
"Obviously," Chris said, setting the bowl on her nightstand with exaggerated care. "Sick people need food."
Taylor squinted at the cereal and wrinkled her nose. "I don't want cereal. I want snacks."
Chris raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "Snacks? You're sick, Taylor. You're not getting chips and cookies for breakfast."
"But I don't want cereal," she said stubbornly, pouting a little. "It's boring."
He sighed dramatically. "You're impossible, you know that?" Then, without waiting for another argument, he scooped up a spoonful of cereal and held it toward her. "Here. Eat. Before I actually regret being nice."
Taylor blinked at him, her cheeks flushing slightly. "You're… going to feed me?"
Chris smirked. "Do you have the strength to do it yourself?"
She hesitated for a moment before sighing in defeat. "Fine," she muttered.
He brought the spoon closer, and she took a small bite, glaring up at him while he grinned smugly. "See? Not so bad," he said.
"I hate that you're right," she mumbled, taking another bite.
By the time she finished, Chris was laughing softly, and Taylor was trying not to smile too much. The morning light glowed between them, soft and golden — and for a moment, neither said a word.
Chris stood up, placing the bowl aside. "Next time you're sick," he said teasingly, "I'm charging a nurse's fee."
Taylor giggled faintly. "And next time, I'm picking the menu."