Megan & Francisco - 2 - Ideal Sick-Day Viewing (m)

[angora48]

Several people asked for a sequel to my story "An Honor Just to Be Nominated," and while I knew myself too well to make any promises, it turns out the fic gods were smiling down on me. Some of the requests from the original thread sparked some ideas for me, and I had enough time to write up this second installment (and get started on a THIRD, which will hopefully be ready not too long after I finish posting this one.) 

I do include some brief recap details, but if you haven't read "An Honor Just to Be Nominated," I recommend starting with that. This story is set later in the same week.

And so, onto Part 1!

 

Days later, Megan Shelstad still couldn’t stop thinking about Oscar night. Her well-deserved awe and amazement at having been in that room breathing that rarefied air, nominated for an award she was never going to win but nominated nevertheless. Knowing that the IMDb page for Papi’s Stories from Sundown would always have an Oscar nod for Best Achievement in Sound Editing on it, and her name would be beneath that entry.

But of course, the night had taken all sorts of turns Megan never could have expected, degrees of awesomeness that far exceeded her preexisting excitement at being there at all. She couldn’t have imagined that Francisco Morales, the star of Papi’s Stories from Sundown, would seek her out in that room packed with celebrities to congratulate her on her work in the film, that he’d take it to heart when she didn’t win the award and devote the rest of the night to making it a magical one for her. Bringing her along to an Oscar party where her eyes never stopped goggling at all the famous people around her, talking up her sound-editing talents to anyone who would listen, ensuring she took full advantage of the night’s revelry, and finishing things off with a wee-hours visit to an all-night diner for an early breakfast. And, when they went their separate ways, urging her to connect with him on social media, because Francisco Morales wanted to keep in touch with her. Because he wanted her to work on more films with him.

Oh yeah, and there was just the small matter of Francisco Morales having a fricking cold. Stuffed up and sneezing the whole night (sneezing while onstage presenting the award for Best Documentary Short!), with his voice getting hoarse after shouting over the loud music at the Oscar party, finally dozing off in their booth at the diner. This wasn’t just the icing on the cake of an amazing night – it was dipping the cake in ambrosia and sprinkling it with pure stardust. Between reliving her memories of legit hanging out with Francisco Morales (with a cold!) and copiously rewatching clips of him presenting his award on YouTube, it was safe to say that the thoughts of that night had taken up permanent residence in her head.

It was fun to get up the next day and check out the chatter online. On cinema-buff Twitter, Megan doubted that most of the Francisco Morales fangirls there were quite as invested in Francisco’s cold as she was, but apparently a gorgeous, talented, charismatic actor had the ability to turn anyone into at least a tiny bit of a sneeze fetishist. Megan scrolled through plenty of posts to the tune of, “Aw, sniffly baby! We must protect him at all costs,” and, “Is it weird if Francisco Morales sneezing made me pregnant?”

Meanwhile, on the forum that catered to Megan’s particular proclivity, the subject had its own thread. The OP who put up the YouTube clip commented, “Okay, who is this Francisco Morales guy sneezing at the Oscars? Where has he been all my life and CAN I HAVE ONE??” The next few posters gushed over the sneeze and noted the stuffy talk (“It really sounds like he has a cold,” one observed) but weren’t familiar with Francisco as an actor either. Megan was grateful when another obvious fan joined in to reply:

“Francisco Morales, love him!! He’s this amazing actor from Mexico, recommend The Art of You, Hapless, and especially The Starlit Path. Or if you want to see him in English, check out Papi’s Stories from Sundown,” (Megan blushed, as if the other posters would be able to sense her connection to the film purely by someone else invoking its name,) “he’s incredible in it – totally robbed for an Oscar nod BTW.”

Obviously, Megan’s actual experiences with Francisco on Oscar night were basically a Dear Penthouse letter for sneeze fetishists, but she didn’t post any obs. Given the one and only nomination for Papi’s Stories from Sundown, it seemed like too much of a risk that people would glean her identity from anything she posted, and she had no interest in her real name coming to light on the forum. Beyond that, it just felt… what? Too personal, maybe. It didn’t feel fair to Francisco to post it, and the whole night had this warm, glowy feeling around it that Megan decided was just for her.

Maybe that glow was why she didn’t immediately leap on Francisco’s parting words to keep in touch with him on social media. Oscar night was as shimmering and delicate as a soap bubble, and there was some part of Megan that wanted to preserve it like it, perfect and untouched. That part of her was afraid that actually reaching out to Francisco would pop the bubble, that the memory of her one exquisite night would collapse when he replied, “Sorry, who??” to her message.

But then, on the other hand… Francisco Morales tells you to DM him, you DM him, right? Somehow, by Friday afternoon, Megan talked herself around to the idea. It’d be rude not to, after all, and she had said she would. DM’ing him instantly would’ve been overeager and tacky. This was better, give him a little space, time to get back home and settled after the Oscars.

That was how she came to be lying on her bed reading the message she’d composed for about the fifteenth time, her thumb hovering uncertainly over the “send” button.

“Hi,” it read (she thought about, “Hi Francisco,” but she decided it was way too presumptuous to assume she rated first-name status.) “This is Megan Shelstad, the sound editor for Papi’s Stories from Sundown. We met on Sunday at the Oscars, and I had a great time with you and Arturo Casilla at the after-party.” (Megan had to force herself to use periods for these statements, because in her head, they kept sounding like insecure questions. “This is Megan Shelstad? The sound editor of Papi’s Stories from Sundown?”) “You said you wanted to keep in touch so… here I am, keeping in touch!” (God, why was she always at her most cringe-worthy when it was critical not to be? Better cut and run before she completely lost it.)

“Anyway, I hope you had a safe flight back to Mexico. It was so great to meet you. You completely made my night!”

(Here, she typed, “Hope to hear from you soon,” then deleted it – again with the overeager.)

“Megan Shelstad”

Send.

Megan’s hand fell to her side like her phone suddenly weighed 40 pounds and she looked up at the ceiling. So as not to spend too much time second-guessing her phrasing now that she’d already gone and done the thing, she made an executive decision to distract herself. And she happened to know just the Oscar-night YouTube clip to help her do that. Rolling over, she picked up her laptop on the bed beside her, opened a private-browsing window, and hauled her ass over to YouTube.

Poor Edwin Ballaste and John Vokum, the guys who actually won Best Documentary Short. Their acceptance speech didn’t even make the clip, which ended somewhere in the middle of them leaping to their feet with excitement when their names were called. It was obvious that the only reason the clip existed on the wild Internet was because of the double yum of Michael Fassbender and Francisco Morales presenting in their tuxes.

Rewatching shifted quickly into remembering/daydreaming (Megan hadn’t been this useless since Sunday, honest, but she had had a number of wildly unproductive moods with her fetish brain on overdrive.) It was while she was thinking of Francisco’s husky, congested voice in her ear when they were dancing at the party that a sudden buzz from her phone nearly had her jumping out of her skin.

Even as Megan reached for the phone, she reminded herself that it was most likely a text from her brother or one of her friends, or an extremely insistent push notification about 50% off garlic fries at her favorite bar. But when she tapped the screen on, she could see that the notification was from Instagram. She had a message from @ElFranciscoMoralesReal.

“Hi Megan! I’m still in Los Angeles. Great to meet you 2, so talented!”

In amongst all the freak-out content therein (he’d replied, he remembered her and seemed as genuinely pleased to hear from her as it was possible for someone to sound in a typed message,) Megan still had enough presence of mind to notice the surprising detail that had her immediately opening up a reply of her own.

“You’re still in LA?” she wrote. “I thought you were flying home on Wednesday.”

The wait for Francisco’s next response seemed so much longer than the first, and Megan chided herself for being so eager. She could’ve at least pretended she hadn’t read his DM the second she got it.

But when the next notification came, Megan quickly forgot all her interacting-with-a-celebrity-on-social-media strategizing. “Its hard to write it in english,” Francisco’s reply read. “Can I have your phone # to call?”

How was it that all of Megan’s experiences with Francisco Morales seemed to level up on one another? After she finished reassuring herself that he’d asked what she thought he’d asked, Megan forced herself to breathe for a couple beats and then replied with her number.

Before she knew it, there was call from an unknown number on her phone. Taking another breath, Megan hit the call button. “H-hey,” she said, half incredulous and half ecstatic.

“Yes, Baygad, hi,” Francisco said, and right away, Megan could tell that his cold had gotten quite a bit worse. He was sounding tired and his voice was scratchy and really stuffed up. “Okay, you rebebber that I had sobe beetings a- afte-e-er…” A sneeze practically out of the gate, a strong “HAAAAHHHH-ehhhhhh-tsuihhhhhhhh!” that sounded uncovered. “…After the Oscars?” he finished, sniffling wetly.

Good lord. On Oscar night, Megan had to take care to keep looking and sounding like a normal human while Francisco’s cold was massively turning her on – now, in this moment, she appreciated that he couldn’t see the come to Mama expression on her face. “Uh- uh, yeah,” she replied, reminding herself that she did still have to keep up her half of the conversation.

This was a nugget that had come up after the after-party, in the town car on the way to the diner. Since Hollywood was an industry that ran on networking and schmooze, up-and-comers might take a number of nebulous, agenda-less meetings with assorted movers and shakers, essentially saying, “Look at me, see how personable I am? Keep this in mind when you’re casting your next movie! Have I mentioned how much I admire your work?” (“It’s what you do,” Francisco said with a shrug and a sniff.) Most of the time, he and Arturo admitted, it didn’t come to much of anything, but it was still part of the deal when you didn’t have much clout, lest you get a reputation for being “too good” to take someone’s meeting. Francisco had the Monday after the Oscars off, then a whirlwind of meetings on Tuesday before he and Arturo flew back to Mexico on Wednesday. At least, that had been the plan.

“Right,” Francisco was saying, “so od Tuesday, Arturo add be are- we’re g- getting – didder….” He sputtered into a cough, loud enough for Megan to hear despite covering the receiver. “Getting didder,” he resumed, “after by beetings, add I get a call frob by agedt, who got a call frob Elizabeth Vega’s people.”

Megan raised an eyebrow. Elizabeth Vega was a pretty big deal – after spending years making the rounds of the indie circuit, she’d broken out a handful of years ago when she unleashed her inner badass in the No Second Chances franchise. These days, her name was usually in the mix whenever there was casting buzz over a new female action hero. “Whoa, are you serious?” Megan asked.

“I doh!” Francisco replied. “I got up add walked out of the restaurant, be- beca… AHHHHHHH-shiiioooooooo!” He sniffled. “-Because I- I thought, the doise, I wasd’t hearing right. Arturo diddn’t doh what was going od.” He sniffled again, stifling a hasty cough – he was on a roll with his story at this point, and he clearly wasn’t about to let his (very sexy) cold get in the way. “But she wadted to beet be! She dew I was id towd for the Oscars, but she’s filbing id Atladta udtil dext week, so…”

“…So you had to extend your stay,” Megan finished.

“Of course!” Francisco told her. “It’s Elizabeth Vega, how could I ever say doh? We- we are beeting od- od Bodda-aay… IIHHHHHHHH-shiiaaaahhhhhhhh! Hihhhhhhhhh-CHUUHHHHHH! Mmbbb….”

That stuffed-up little moan damn near broke her brain. “T- that’s amazing,” Megan managed to reply. “Congratulations.”

“Thadk you,” Francisco said. “So dow I’be id a sballer, cheaper hotel udtil dext week.” More coughing; Megan could hear the congestion in his chest.

Come on – at this point, it’d be more conspicuous if she didn’t say anything, right? “You okay?” Megan asked.

Francisco gave a slightly crackly sigh. “I feel dervous,” he admitted. “Whed I had by beetings before, I was kide of sick, but right dow I feel very sick. I’be worried, because I dod’t wadt to soud or look bad whed I beet Elizabeth Vega.”

By Megan’s estimation, he sounded gloriously, devastatingly sexy and probably looked even sexier, but she knew her reaction wasn’t strictly typical on that front. “That’s- that’s hard,” she told him.

“Yes,” Francisco agreed, sniffling, sounding so sweet and vulnerable Megan wanted to put him in her pocket.

“So you’ve just been holed up in your hotel?” Megan asked. “Is Arturo looking after you, or has he been checking out Los Angeles?”

“Ar-” Francisco broke off coughing. “Arturo’s back id Béxico,” he explained. “He kept our first flight.” His breath hitched, and he sneezed a strong “haaahhhhhhhh-SHOOOOOOOO-ihhhhhh!”

Aw, hell. Every encounter she’d had with Francisco so far had been very specifically beyond her wildest dreams; why not just go for it? “Do you-” Yep, she was gonna say it. “I mean, do you want some company?”

It just so happened that another sneeze was hitting Francisco right as she spoke. “EHHHHHHHH-ihhhhhhh-tschiiaaahhhhh!” He sniffled wetly. “What?” he said, his voice raspy.

Megan could’ve chickened out, could’ve lost her nerve, but she wasn’t about to back down now. “Do you want some company?” she repeated. “I could, you know, come over to your hotel for a while. Be a friendly face?” She impressed herself sometimes. How was the same woman who spent 15 minutes agonizing over her DM draft now legit fishing for an invitation to come and see him at his hotel?

“Really? That’s so dice!” Francisco said, and the warmth in his voice made Megan picture his incredible smile from Oscar night. “Are you sure? Baybe you’re busy, or…” He drew in a breath, but it sounded to Megan like the sneeze wouldn’t come; he hitched a few times, to no avail. “Aaahh!” he finally exclaimed, an adorably irritated sound. “I bead you dod’t have to. Odly if you really wadt t- to-oo… ehhhhhh-chiiii-HUHHHHHHH!” There was the sneeze.

Only if she really wanted to? Was he effing kidding her? “I’d be happy to,” Megan told him. “Send me the address, and I’m there.”

[bcj1027]

AHHHHHHHH!!!!! I’m so happy you decided to continue with this story!! I loved the forts part and now that our sexy actor is miserably sick I love it even more!! Poor guy all alone and sick af in a hotel! I could melt lol! Absolutely cannot wait to read more! Keep up the amazing work!

[ID2006]

Yay, I'm also super glad you're continuing this.

[groundcontrol]

Yes. Simply, yes. Can’t remember the last time I clicked on a story here quite so fast!! Here’s to Francisco having an absolutely awful time at the hotel and being an absolute nugget while doin so :) 

[Gallatea]

I love this fic!!! I'm the industry too, so I love how you capture Megan, her insecurities and just everything! Us below the line folks gotta fit in where we can!

[angora48]

Thanks for commenting, everybody! It really makes my day to read them. @Gallatea, I'm glad you're liking it. I'm NOT in the industry and know shockingly-little about sound editing, so I'm mostly making stuff up and bolstering it with judicious Googling (along with my "knowledge" from watching stuff like BoJack Horseman,) and I'm happy Megan's characterization rings true for you.

On 4/5/2021 at 3:01 PM, bcj1027 said:

Poor guy all alone and sick af in a hotel! I could melt lol!

You and me both!

10 hours ago, groundcontrol said:

Here’s to Francisco having an absolutely awful time at the hotel and being an absolute nugget while doin so :) 

But of course! That's why we're here! ☺️

Part 2:

 

A woman didn’t get invited to Francisco Morales’s hotel room (when he was sick!) everyday; that was putting it mildly. Megan hopped into her car in a state of genuine bliss. Monks could’ve waved at her as they passed by on their way to nirvana. Every Google Maps navigational instruction was music to her ears.

Though she didn’t get there quite as soon as she would’ve liked (frickin’ L.A.,) Megan arrived outside Francisco’s hotel before long. Shifting sharply from excited to nervous, she folded her visor down and gave herself a quick onceover in the mirror. Sound-editing was a job she often did either at home or alone in a studio, so it didn’t really lend itself to a “ready for primetime” aesthetic, but she thought she’d cleaned up well enough on short notice. Her thick, curly brown hair had been half pulled-back, and she wore the sort of “I just threw this on” outfit humans wear among other humans, not the sort they wear in the privacy of their own homes. Thinking of how glammed up she’d been on Oscar night, she’d put on a bit of makeup, but not much – the splash of freckles across her nose was still visible.

Okay, Megan, this is it, she told herself. You’ve got this. Fortune favors the effing brave. Grabbing the plastic bag on the seat beside her, she took a breath and got ready to head inside.

Francisco was in room 512. When Megan knocked, he called, “Yes – I’be cobing,” in a stuffy voice, and when he opened the door, she could’ve melted into a goddamn puddle right there.

Long-sleeved cream-colored Henley shirt, gray sweats, bare feet. His dark brown hair was sweetly disheveled and his nostrils were just a bit chapped. His eyes were drooping, and more than that, his whole being seemed a little washed out. He smiled when he saw her, but it was like he was on a dimmer switch. The poor guy was just about the most beautiful thing Megan had ever seen.

“Baygan, hi,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Thadk you for cobing.”

“Hi,” she replied, unable to hide her morbid curiosity as she stepped inside. The hotel was mid-range, a bit fancy for her budget, probably roughing it a little for Francisco’s. His room was equipped with the basics, and despite how sick he was obviously feeling, it was neater than Megan was expecting. Francisco’s clothes were folded in the open expander portion of his suitcase, and the nightstand was host to two Kleenex packets, a glass of water, and an ice bucket (its contents mostly melted.) The wastebasket sat beside the bed, about half full of tissues. The blinds were drawn, with several lamps switched on to provide dim light.

But of course, Francisco much more naturally drew her eye, and as she heard his slight gasp, her gaze was instantly back on him. “AHHHHHHHH-hehhhhhh-ihhhhhhh-CHUHHHHHH!” he sneezed, into his hand.

“Salud,” Megan said with a wince.

Francisco nodded, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he swallowed a stuffed-up sigh. “Gracias,” he replied.

In a sudden fidgety burst of nerves, Megan thrust out the plastic bag in her hand. “I picked up a few things for you,” she explained.

“What?” Francisco exclaimed, his voice cracking. “But you’re dot supposed to buy be thigs, that’s d-” he sniffed, “dot how it works!”

What a man. Megan found that any nervousness or awkwardness at being so close to a handsome celebrity with a cold was quelled by Francisco’s charm and artlessness; it was just so easy for him to make her feel comfortable. Smiling, Megan told him, “Well, after all you did for me on Oscar night, it was the least I could do.”

“Fide,” Francisco acquiesced. He crossed to the bed and sat down, the bag in his lap. “But we’ll have roob service for didder add I will buy it.”

“Deal,” Megan agreed.

Rubbing his nose as he sniffled hard, Francisco nodded toward the nightstand. “The, uh- the beddu is there, od the bed table. Pick what you wadt, how buch you- you wa-adt….” He cupped his hands over his nose and mouth. “Ihhhhhhhh-SHUHHHHHHHH! Ehhhhhhh… ahhhhhhhhh… hihhhhhhhh-CHIIAAHHHHHH!”

Megan, who’d sat down in a chair by the other side of the nightstand, was proud of herself for not completely losing her ability to read a menu in the face of so much hotness. “S- salud,” she said again. “What about you? What do you want?”

“Eh, I dod’t doh,” Francisco shrugged. He reached for his water on the nightstand and took a swallow, wincing. “You cad pick it. I like all kides of food, but doh soup. I-” sniffling, “-I’ve had alboast just soup for like three days, add it’s too buch. Sobething differedt. Add a dessert too, baybe.” Clearing his throat, he sniffled again.

While Megan flipped through the menu, her eyes were never far from Francisco as he investigated the drug-store purchases she’d brought him. He pulled a large Kleenex box from the bag, and she explained, “I wasn’t how set you were for Kleenexes.”

“This is good,” Francisco told her. “I have tissues, b- but-” he bent forward, coughing hard into his hands. “Unhh – but j- just the little wuds,” he continued, “for your pocket.” He was trying to get his momentum back, but Megan could tell his throat was still bothering him. He stifled another cough. “I’ll use these dow add k- add keep the little wuds if I deed theb next week f- for by beeting or by f- fligh-” More coughing. He picked up one of the pillows on the bed and pressed it to his mouth while he coughed until, breathing a little shakily as he surfaced, he took another drink of water. With a slight groan, he rubbed his temple and sank down a little lower.

Megan was hit was a gut-punch of yearning. Francisco was gorgeous anyway, and with a bad cold he was hot as all hell, but he was also pressing every single caretaking button she had. It’d be weird if she went over and cradled his head, right?

So, in lieu of petting his hair or planting kisses on his probably-feverish brow, she said, quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Francisco was wearily scrubbing at his face with his hand. At her words, he paused, frowning. His hand made its way up to his hair, tousling it even more. (So goddamn hot – if Megan didn’t know better, she’d have sworn he was doing it deliberately.) “What do you bead?” he asked, his voice scratchy and weak after his coughing fit.

“I mean, Sunday night,” Megan pointed out, somewhere between sheepish and contrite. “If you hadn’t stayed out all night for my sake…”

“Hey, Arturo add me were always go- going to st- to sta-ay… out…” A sneeze this time. His nose must have gotten a lot ticklier over the past several days; he seemed to be hitching more than he had on Oscar night. “Aaaahhhhhhh… heh-heehhhhhhhh… ehhhhhhh… SHIIOOOOOOOO! Mbb…” He sniffed, keeping his hand held to his face until he plucked a Kleenex from the box Megan had brought him and wiped his nose. “We were goig to stay out all dight addyway,” he finally said, still sniffling. “Cobe od, it’s the Oscars! You thidk we were just goig back to our hotel? You cabe with us, because it was your dight, but you didd’t bake us do addythig we wered’t al- alrea-eady… hihhhhhhhhh… ahhhhhhh-hehhhhhh-SHUHHHHHH!” He sighed. “…Doig.” He grabbed another tissue and blew his nose.

“Well in that case, I’m just sorry that you’re feeling so sick,” Megan told him. “But I’m glad you’re still in town. It would’ve been awful to get on a plane when you’re feeling like this.”

“Oh by god, I doh,” Francisco agreed. “It was kide of bad od our flight here, add I was odly a little sick thed. I hope I’be so buch better before I go hobe od Tuesday.”

“Me too,” Megan told him, offering him a sympathetic smile. As much as he had her dying with every sniffle, she had plenty of other feels washing over her too, nice warm feels that only had a little to do with her fetish-lust.

Francisco eventually remembered the bag of stuff Megan had brought him, while Megan had pretty much entirely forgotten about the room service menu. She watched as he pulled out a package of Nyquil, his face falling in frankly adorable dismay. “Oh, I’be sorry,” he said, sounding genuinely regretful. “I cad’t do these. I’be-” he cleared his throat, “-I’be dot good at big beddicids addyway, add right dow, by throat is hurting too buch, I cad’t do it.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Megan assured him. She held out her hand for him to toss the box back to her. “I’ll just throw it in my medicine cabinet until the next time I need it. It’s fine, really.”

“Okay,” Francisco said, but he sounded unsure, like he’d committed an unspeakable offense by turning down her “gift” of giant pills he couldn’t swallow. He plunged his hand back into the bag and seized an aspirin bottle. “But this wud is fide. It will help for by headache.”

He pulled out a bottle of cough medicine, and Megan couldn’t help smiling at how valiantly he tried not to make a face. “This wud, I dod’t like so buch, b-” He sputtered into a cough. “-But it’s good t- to ha-ave…” He dropped the medicine bottles back in his lap and reached for a Kleenex. “Ehhhhhh… ahhhhhhh… HIIHHHHHHHH-shiiuhhhhhhh! Mbb…” He groaned a little, sniffling wetly into the tissue.

“Salud,” Megan told him. “I brought a thermometer too. Just mine from home – don’t worry, it’s clean.”

“Mbb hbb,” Francisco mumbled back. Wiping his nose and tossing the Kleenex in the wastebasket, he looked back at Megan. “Okay, I’be cobplaiding too buch,” he chided himself.

“It’s fine,” Megan said, and she could not stress enough how sincerely she meant it.

But Francisco shook his head, busily crowding his new medicine bottles onto the night stand. “It’s like you see id cobbedies, where the bad is sick and he’s so whiding add helpless,” he observed. “I dod’t wadt to be like that. It’s too addoying add you wod’t wadt to stay friedds.”

Megan would 100% want to stay friends. “Don’t worry about me,” she replied. “I’m here for you tonight. You be as annoying as you need to.”

[ID2006]

Mmmm, I like where this is headed

[angora48]

Thanks, @ickydog2006! Glad you like it. ☺️

Part 3:

 

Megan was the one to call down for room service, with Francisco vigorously reminding her that he was paying for it. “I know,” she said, semi-successfully biting back a laugh. “I’m not trying to stop you spoiling me. It’s just that, no offense, but you’re a little hard to understand on the phone right now.”

“Right,” Francisco conceded, nodding. He ran a hand under his nose and gave a long sniffle. “By accedt.”

“More like your nose,” Megan countered. The poor guy was completely stuffed up, and blowing his nose didn’t seem to help for longer than a few minutes at a time.

Francisco smiled sheepishly. “Oh.”

He took a couple aspirin, swallowing them one at a time, gingerly, with sips of water – Megan was fascinated by the fact that she now knew he had a hard time taking pills. He also swallowed a capful of the cough medicine and made a positively-adorable “blechh” face afterwards. “Ugh,” he said. “It’s terrible, buh- but I doh it… helps… AHHHHHHH-shiiaaahhhhhh!”

While they waited for the food to arrive, Megan asked Francisco how his meetings went earlier in the week. A filmmaker and two producers, all eager for a sit-down with Francisco Morales. Or at least, that was the idea.

“I dod’t doh, I guess it was okay,” Francisco said, hemming. He sniffled as he rubbed his nose with his knuckles. “You doh, they all say, ‘Oh, you’re so taledted, you’re abazing, I wadt to work with you so buch… after I fide the perfect role for you.’”

Megan stifled a chuckle. “Yeah, see, that sounds better than okay to me.” She wasn’t sure how he did it, how he put her at her ease and enabled her to act like what passed for a normal human being when he was sniffling and hitching and, oh yeah, still a movie star. She was so incredibly hot for him right now, but he had this way about him that made it easy to talk to him like a person instead of just drooling and babbling in a horny stupor.

“Doh, y- you s-ee-ee…” Francisco began but almost immediately broke off into a quavering gasp. “Aaaahhhhhhhh… ehhhhh-hehhhhhhh… ihhhhhhh…” The sneeze was stuck, but he kept a hand in front of his face, his frozen expression making Megan shiver with antici-

Good lord, he was so beautiful. “Try looking at the light,” Megan suggested.

“Wha-haaaa-?” Francisco started to say, the lamp on the nightstand setting him off as soon as he turned toward her. “AHHHHHH-hehhhhhhh-chuhhhhhh! Ehhhhh-SHOOOOOO-iieehhhhhh! Huhhhhhh… ihhhhhh-CHIOOOOO!” Wiping his nose on his palm, he gave her a sweet smile and a little shrug, as if to say, Whatcha gonna do?

Hot damn. Megan was lucky she was already sitting down, or she might’ve dropped dead. “S-salud,” she managed.

Another sheepish smile from Francisco as he wiped his nose with a Kleenex. “Gracias,” he replied. “I was, ub, I was sayig…” He frowned, rubbing his temple.

“You were talking about how the guys you met with kept telling you how great you are,” Megan reminded him (and honestly, after those sneezes, she deserved a medal for remembering that.)

“Right, yes!” Francisco agreed. He sniffled. “But you see, that’s the thig. ‘The perfect role’ is like the dice Hollywood way to say, ‘There are so baddy roles we c-’” He coughed, cupping his hands over his mouth. “‘-we cad’t let you play, so you have to wait udtil we fide the wud you cad do.’” He coughed again and cleared his throat, rubbing it.

Megan winced. “Ah, got it,” she said. “I can just picture some asshole going, ‘As soon as we need to reboot Zorro, we’ll give you a call!’”

“Doh, wud of theb talked to be about Zorro!” Francisco exclaimed. “Kedt Everard, the producer with Udiversal? He said, ‘You’d bake a great Zorro, y- you do-oh… ehhhhhhh-shiihhhhhhh-HUHHHHHH!” The force of the sneeze sent him rocking forward, his hand clamped over his mouth.

“Ugh,” Megan groaned. “On behalf of white people, can I just apologize? We’re honestly the worst.”

By the time Francisco finished recounting the tales of his Hollywood bigwig meetings, the cool moments/glimmers of promise as well as the disappointing/cringe-worthy stuff, the food had just arrived. Blackened chicken pasta smothered in a tomato cream sauce for Francisco and a barbecue burger with sweet potato fries for Megan. Sundaes for dessert (with Francisco’s sore throat, Megan thought that was the safest bet,) which they immediately stuck in the mini-fridge to stave off melting until they were ready for them.

Francisco watched Megan debate between trying to squeeze her plate onto the nightstand or balance it on her knee. “You cad cobe over here,” he told her, indicating the queen-sized bed. “There’s bore roob.”

At that suggestion, Megan either blushed or her soul left her body. Francisco wasn’t in bed in bed, instead sitting up with a pillow behind his back and his plate in his lap, the blankets bunched at the foot of the bed, but he was still looking at her with those tired eyes and his chapped nostrils twitched when he sniffled. Gee, would she care to join him on the bed?

“Uh, sure,” she squeaked out, in a pitch only barely in range of human hearing.

While she was getting situated (on the bed!), Francisco drew in yet another hitching breath. “Hehhhhh… haahhhhhh…” He reached to the end table for a Kleenex. “Ihhhhhhh-CHIUHHHHH! Hehhhhhhh-SHOOOO-ihhhhh! Mbb….” That stuffed-up little half-moan again, which gave Megan a warm feeling in her stomach.

“Sorry,” Francisco said when he emerged, still sniffling, from behind the Kleenex. “I’be dot so buch fud todight.”

“It’s fine, believe me,” Megan told him. And how!

“We could watch a boovie,” Francisco suggested, settling back a little onto his pillow as he cleared his throat. “That way, you dod’t just have to listedd to be sdeeze all the tibe.”

While Megan would be more than happy to listen to Francisco sneeze for the rest of the night, a movie would mean less pressure on her to behave like a normal human (while still being able to listen to Francisco sneeze just fine.) What’s more, Francisco could probably use it. He rallied some while he was telling her about his meetings, but Megan could tell he was pretty wiped out. She figured he’d appreciate not having to keep up a steady stream of conversation.

So she accepted the remote he handed to her and began to scroll through the movie channels, whereupon she was quickly hit by a burst of irrational anxiety. What to watch with Francisco Morales? He was sick, so maybe he’d want something light and nostalgic. The second Mighty Ducks was playing. Or was that too immature? Not to mention, he was from Mexico – Megan had no idea what was included in his nostalgic-film canon. Then again, at the Oscars, he was well-versed in the major nominees, so he knew his way around prestige cinema. A classic? Something indie and artsy? Spotlight was on, that was a Best Picture winner. It was also depressing as hell. What was wrong with her?

“Chungking Express!” she said suddenly. “Have you seen it? It’s really good. Wong Kar-wai is amazing, and you can’t go wrong with Brigitte Lin or Tony Leung.”

Francisco was in the middle of blowing his nose when Megan made her Chungking Express pitch. He paused, sniffing. “Chidese, right?” he asked.

Megan nodded. “Hong Kong.”

Francisco grimaced a little. “I haved’t seed it,” he said, “add I’be sure it’s really great like you say, but I cad’t read Egglish fast eduff for- sub- ti… tles…” He turned away, sneezing a hard “AAAAHHHHH-hiihhhhhh-shiiooooo!” into the back of his hand. He pulled another Kleenex from the box to wipe his nose. “Whed I get hobe I’ll look for it with Spaddish subtitles, I probbi-ise….” He stifled a few coughs and reached for his water.

“Oh, duh – I should’ve thought of that,” Megan replied. Somehow, now that she’d actually done what she’d been worried about and picked a completely-wrong movie choice, she found herself relaxing. “Do you want watching something in Spanish?”

“Egglish is fide whed they’re talking,” Francisco told her. “It’s the readig, it goes too fast add- add I c- I cad’t…” Another sneeze, an “ehhhhhh-HUHHHHHH-chiuuhhhhh!” into his hands.

“Say no more,” Megan said. She was continuing to scroll as she spoke, and right that second, the guide landed on Bridesmaids. She gave Francisco a look. “What do you think?”

“Are you jokig?” Francisco replied. “Of course, it’s Belissa BcCarthy add Kristed Wiig! So hilarious.” He smiled at her as he rubbed his nose.

Megan smiled back, selecting the channel. “Okay,” she said, “let’s do this.”

[angora48]

Phew, and we're back! Here's Part 4.

 

Megan was in Francisco Morales’s hotel room, sitting beside him on his bed, eating the room-service meal he’d bought for her and watching Bridesmaids with him, all while he had a bad cold. That was a thing that was happening. What even was her life?

With Francisco’s attention on the food and the movie, she was free to glance his way pretty much whenever she wanted, taking in every sniffle, every sneeze, every cough, every time he cleared his throat or rubbed his nose. Despite being an attractive movie star, he had absolutely zero qualms about blowing his nose in front of her, which Megan was of course 100% fine with.

While his pasta and the comedy stylings of Kristen Wiig and co. were perking him up a little, Francisco still seemed muted, much more subdued than the wholehearted charisma-bomb she’d met on Oscar night. And from where Megan was sitting, it looked like more than just feeling tired and sick. He was feeling down too, unhappy about being tired and sick, and he didn’t try to disguise that. Not in a whiny man-baby way but in an honest way. Just his eyes and his body language saying, I really wish I could stop feeling like this. There was a sincerity in that, and Megan found it oddly compelling.

Francisco bent forward as he was hit with yet another coughing fit, covering his mouth with one hand so he could use to the other to steady his plate in his lap. On Oscar night, as Francisco’s cold had grown a bit worse over the course of the night, Megan had been careful not to overstep, maybe a little too careful. But now, she placed a light hand on his back as he coughed, a gentle assertion of her presence.

When the coughing subsided, Francisco sank back against his pillow, taking a few careful swallows of his water. “I’be sorry,” he said, “I thidk we have to stop this boovie.”

Megan, who’d been preparing to reply that he didn’t have to apologize for feeling awful, was thrown for a loop at this last bit. “I- what?” she replied, wrong-footed. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s a great boovie, add so fuddy,” Francisco insisted quickly, “but I thidk I- I-I… haahhhhhhhh…” He turned, sneezing a hard “ahhhhhhh-SHUUHHHHHHH!” into his fist. “…I thidk I shouldd’t laugh a lot,” he continued, sniffling. “It bakes be cough too buch.”

Crap – and there was Megan thinking the cough medicine just wasn’t working. Of course watching a laugh-out-loud comedy would be irritating his throat. She should have considered that. “Don’t worry about it,” she assured him, reaching for the remote between them.

“Sorry,” Francisco repeated with an apologetic wince. He stifled another cough.

“And don’t apologize either,” Megan instructed. “The whole point is that we’re trying to help you feel better. Anything that’s not furthering that goal shouldn’t be here right now; we can totally watch something else. ‘Til next time, ladies,” she added, switching the channel on Maya Rudolph.

Megan didn’t have time to foster a new mini-crisis over what to watch, because within a couple scrolls of the remote, Francisco exclaimed, “Star Wars!”

“What – where?” Megan asked.

“Go dowd,” Francisco replied, gesturing cutely with his fork.

There it was, at the bottom of the screen. A New Hope had started ten minutes ago, and from a glance at the upcoming guide, it seemed to be the beginning of a marathon. “Tatooine, here we come,” Megan announced.

It was the best of all possible worlds. Nostalgic but not kiddie, critically-acclaimed but not a bummer. From the moment Luke appeared onscreen examining C-3PO and R2, Megan saw a slight, tired smile tugging at the corner of Francisco’s mouth. Some movies were like old friends, and that made them the ideal choice for sick-day viewing.

Francisco returned to his food, sniffling persistently and wincing a little whenever he swallowed, but his eyes stayed locked on the screen. The movie didn’t put the color back in his cheeks or anything (even Star Wars had limits to its medicinal properties,) but it was like a warm blanket wrapped around his glumness, brightening him, if only a little.

“Hihhhhhh-CHIIOOOOOO! Ahhhhhh… ehhhhhhh-shoooooo-uhhhhhh!” he sneezed, sniffling hard as he grabbed a Kleenex. He blew his nose, wiped it, and tossed the tissue lazily/clumsily into the wastebasket. And then he honest-to-god dropped his head onto Megan’s shoulder.

“Is this okay?” he asked with a quiet sniffle.

Is this okay? More like amazing, Megan thought, squeeing internally. “Yep,” she replied, showing off an impressive ability to play it relatively cool. “You’re good.”

“Mbb hbb,” Francisco responded softly, and she felt the slight movements of his head as he rubbed his nose.

For a while, Megan just sat in a dream stupor, reconciling once again that, yes, this was happening in her actual life. Her eyes were on the screen, but her brain was entirely focused on the slight crackles in Francisco’s breath, Francisco’s wet sniffles and occasional coughs, the way Francisco tensed as he started to hitch before a sneeze. It legit took her a few minutes to realize she was only half-finished with her burger and probably ought to keep eating.

During the cantina scene, Francisco remarked, “Oh by god, if I could play addy boovie character, I would be Had Solo.”

“Yeah?” Megan said, smiling as she pictured him in that vest with a blaster strapped to his hip. “I can see that.”

“He- he’s juh-uhhst….” Francisco trailed off. He rocked forward with a loud “HAHHHHHHHH-ihhhhh-suhhhhh!”, cupping his hands over his nose and mouth, then settled back onto Megan’s shoulder. “He’s just got that cool, like, Abericad, cowboy style,” he resumed, sniffling, “but with a spaceship! Doh wud is cooler thad that.”

“No arguments from me,” Megan replied.

“If a guy tells you he’d rather be Luke, he’s lyig,” Francisco told her. “Eeved Bark Habill – he’s so abazing as Luke, but I bet there’s just like a little part of hib tha- thaaa….” He paused, drawing in a breath and lifting a hand to his face. The itch was stuck, and Francisco’s hitching didn’t seem to help. “…That w- wihhshes he c- could be… Hahhhd…. Ehhhhhhhh-CHIIOOOOO!” He turned away, using his hand to direct the sneeze into his shoulder.

“Bless you,” Megan managed as he settled back in. His sniffles and congested swallows were killing her dead.

The evening continued on. When Francisco asked, “Do you wadt dessert?”, Megan almost hated to get up and go to the mini-fridge for the ice cream, not wanting to disturb that absolute perfection that was Francisco’s head resting on her shoulder. But it’s not exactly like she could say that, so she waited for Francisco to sit up and then hopped down off the bed. Francisco had tapped out on his pasta with maybe a third of it left, so she picked up his plate off the nightstand and stuck it in the mini-fridge, swapping out the two slightly-melted sundaes. “Tha- thadks,” Francisco said as she handed him his bowl, turning to muffle a cough into his shoulder.

Luckily for Megan, once he was finished with his ice cream, Francisco cozied right up to her again. Honestly, she ought to just retire her bucket list, because she didn’t see how she’d manage to top this night.

“Hihhhhhhh… ehhhh-hehhhhh… uhhhhhh-SHHHHHHH!” he sneezed into a Kleenex a bit later, coughing a little as he wiped his nose. He sounded more than a little miserable, and even as that was utterly delicious, it also made Megan feel for him. In a stunning burst of boldness/audacity, she put an arm around him. Francisco didn’t say anything in response, but he snuggled up a tiny bit closer to her and made a small, tired noise that, to Megan’s ears, sounded at least moderately comforted.

“Tell be about the souds,” he murmured, sounding a bit drowsy, as he nodded toward the screen.

Megan smiled, weirdly moved that he wanted to let her unleash the full force of her nerdy sound editor on him. “Well, the sound designer was actually Ben Burtt,” she said, “the guy who won the Oscar in my category? He’s a total rock star, like the Han Solo of sound editing.”

Francisco gave a light chuckle. “Dot so bad for you thed – it’s like gettig dobbidated for actig add losing to Dadiel Day-Lewis.”

Megan laughed. “Basically,” she agreed. “There are just so many cool, iconic sounds in these movies, and he went out and found all of them. Like, he went and breathed through a scuba mask to make Darth Vader’s breathing, and Chewy’s dialogue is a combination of a bunch of different animals – a bear, a lion, a walrus, all depending on how he’s reacting in any one scene. He got the light saber hum from the motors on movie projectors, and he made the blaster fire from a long metal slinky.”

Francisco sniffled, wiping his nose with a Kleenex. “Please, what is ‘slidky’?’ he asked.

“Oh, right!” Megan exclaimed. No surprise that “slinky” wasn’t part of his repertoire of English. She grabbed her phone and pulled up a quick Google image search. She held the phone out to him, asking, “Have you ever seen those-”

“Ah, yes,” Francisco replied. “It’s a-” He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing. “It’s a toy, yes?”

“Right,” Megan told him. “It’s so cool. You take the slinky and hang it so it’s all stretched out, and you stick a microphone in between the coils. Then, you just pick up the end and drop it on the floor, and it’s exactly the blaster noise.”

“You cad do that?” Francisco asked, a flush of admiration in his voice.

“Yeah, I can do that!” Megan replied. “I was maybe 12 or 13 when I first learned that one.”

“W- wo-ow…” Francisco started to say, trailing off as he started to hitch. “Ihhhhh… ahhh-hahhhhh…” His face froze, and Megan didn’t breathe until the itch washed all the way over him and he caught a wet “hihhh-SHAHHHHHH!” in his hands. He gave a little moan, keeping one hand over his nose while he groped for a tissue with the other.

Once Francisco finished mopping up his nose and cozied back up to Megan with a slight sigh, she asked, “You okay?”

“Yes,” Francisco said with a quiet, glum air of resignation. He added, “Just so sick,” and Megan could feel herself melting from the double whammy of hotness and sweetness. Francisco cleared his throat, stifling a cough. “That’s cool that you leardd all that. Sobetibe, you cad bake a video showing be the blaster soud?”

“Absolutely,” Megan promised. She held him just a tiny bit tighter.

“That’s one thing that’s really neat about doing sci-fi and fantasy,” she went on quietly. “You’re putting sounds to things that don’t exist in the real world, but you have to use things from the real world to make the sounds. It takes a lot of creativity, and you have to listen for the potential of things, recognize what they could be.”

“Mbb,” Francisco murmured. “I like that.”

“Me too,” Megan agreed, giving his shoulder a small squeeze. With his head on her shoulder, they watched the Millennium Falcon take off.

[Jettous]

This girl really is just living the dream. And your writing is fantastic. It flows so naturally and everything feel so realistic. Great job. 

[ichixshiro14]

Oh honey, that self control though...what a saint! Freaking adorable,I can't wait for him to fall asleep on her and she'll be like ope, guess I'm spending the night 🤣😈

[angora48]

Aw, thanks for the comment, @Jettous! I really appreciate your kind words.

5 hours ago, ichixshiro14 said:

Oh honey, that self control though...what a saint! Freaking adorable,I can't wait for him to fall asleep on her and she'll be like ope, guess I'm spending the night 🤣😈

Not so far from the truth! 😈🤧

This is Part 5, the end of "Ideal Sick-Day Viewing." I'd initially planned more for it, but I thought this part had such a nice resolution to it that I decided to save the rest for a third Megan/Francisco story. Hopefully, when you read this, you'll agree! (Also, I know there were some requests in the first story thread to have Megan catch Francisco's cold - don't worry, it'll be coming! I have the third story about half-written and will start posting it once I get it finished.)

 

Star Wars carried them through the evening. Megan couldn’t help exclaiming, “Wilhelm scream!” the first time they heard it onscreen. Francisco didn’t know what that was, so Megan found a YouTube compilation to show him over the next commercial break.

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard that!” he said as he listened to characters in countless movies give the same dramatic scream over and over again.

“Star Wars loves a good Wilhelm scream,” Megan explained. “Most of the movies have at least one.”

And sure enough, when they next heard it in Empire Strikes Back, Francisco gave Megan a questioning look. “Was that…?” he started to ask.

“Yep,” Megan replied.

Francisco was pretty tired. His cold was obviously bothering him, and he faded in and out here and there. But then he’d rally and be surprisingly alert for a stretch. He instructed Megan to make sure he was awake for certain parts. “Don’t let be sleep for the ice cave,” he’d tell her. Or, “If I sleep, w- waa- hehhhhh-shiii-UHHHHHHH! Mbb – wake be up before they go to see Laddo.”

He stayed in his same spot, resting against her, and Megan kept her arm around him. She liked the soft warmth of him next to her, his slight fidgeting movements to get more comfortable or wipe his nose. She could feel whenever he was starting to fade because he’d get still, a little heavier, and she’d hear the way his congested breaths would slow down and even out. Then he’d rouse himself, or she’d give him a soft shake when a part he wanted to see was coming up, and he’d feel light on her shoulder again, his hair tickling her neck. There was so much beauty in just sitting there with him, and it was odd to think that she couldn’t explain this feeling to anyone.

When Vader was doing business with the bounty hunters, Francisco said, “Like you said the souds are so classic, the desigd is abazing too. Just, you close your eyes add you cad see it. Everywud dohs Darth Vader, everywud dohs light sabers or R2-D2, or- or-ahhhhhh…” He clapped a hand over his mouth. “hhhhhhhnhhhh-khhhrrrhhhhh!” He sniffled, coughing.

“I know what you mean,” Megan continued gently. “Or X-wings or Jabba – hell, even Leia’s hair. There’s nothing like it.”

“Right,” Francisco said. He nodded toward the screen. “Like, who’s Boba Fett? It doesd’t batter, doesd’t bake addy difference, because he has that, ub….” He gestured vaguely toward his face.

“Exactly,” Megan agreed, not wanting to make him search for the word “helmet” in his second language when he was tired. “It’s iconic.”

“Like Lady Gaga, but a boovie,” Francisco observed.

The comparison was so startling, so weird on the face of it, that Megan laughed out loud. But in the next breath, she was saying, “That’s… that’s actually exactly what it’s like.”

“I told you!” Francisco enthused.

Near the end of Empire, Francisco sat up a little, sniffling as he rubbed his face with both hands. “Where’s-” he began unsurely, “where’s the, ub…?” He pinched an imaginary object between his fingers and held it to the corner of his mouth.

“The thermometer?” Megan asked. It was a fair point. They’d been sitting close enough to one another for her to know that he was most likely running a fever. Nothing dire, but he was definitely flushed.

“Yes,” Francisco said, nodding. “Sorry, by Egglish….”

“Hey, your English on a bad day is way better than my Spanish on a good day,” Megan told him. “You’re doing just fine.” She pointed to the night stand. “It’s there, next to the ice bucket.”

“Oh, right,” Francisco mumbled. He picked up the small, slender case, took the thermometer out, and stuck it in his mouth. While he was holding it there under his tongue, he started to cough a little; wincing, he rubbed his chest with the heel of his hand.

When the thermometer beeped, Francisco peered down at the readout and frowned. “Wud huddred poidt dide,” he read. “What’s that? Is it bad? I feel a little bad.”

“‘A little bad’ sounds about right,” Megan replied, remembering that America was weird in its insistence on Fahrenheit. “It’s like a small fever.”

“Okay…” Francisco said, his voice a little hazy as a pre-sneeze expression crept onto his face. Dropping the thermometer in his lap, he lifted his hands to his face. “Huhhhhhhh-CHOOOOO-ehhhhh!” he sneezed, then gave a long, wet sniffle from behind his steepled hands.

“Salud,” Megan said with a sympathetic wince, reaching across him for the Kleenex box.

“Thadk you,” Francisco answered in a deflated-sounding tone. He took the Kleenex she offered him and almost immediately sneezed again, a rapid double of “hhhhhhhh-chuhhhhhh! IIIHHHHHH-shiiaahhhhhhh!” Swallowing a groan, he gave his poor nose a thick, congested blow.

“I dod’t thidk I will see the Ewoks,” he admitted. “I’ll be sleeping sood.” Coughing into his shoulder, he lobbed the Kleenex into the wastebasket.

“I don’t blame you,” Megan said, leaning forward to grab the sheet and blankets bunched by the foot of the bed as Francisco slid down onto the mattress. He bullied his pillow into the amount of fluff he evidently liked, and he gave a quiet, appreciative nod when Megan pressed an edge of the blankets into his hand so he could arrange them as he wanted. “Do you want me to go?”

“You dod’t have to,” Francisco told her. “Stay udtil it’s over if you wadt, please. But baybe I’ll be too addoying add loud with by cold.”

“You’re not annoying,” Megan replied, very sincerely. Gorgeously distracting as all-get-out, for sure, but there was nothing the least bit annoying about those sniffles. “Here,” she said, starting to get up. “You can have some more medicine before you go to bed – I’ll refill your water and grab you some more ice.”

But Francisco said, “It’s okay,” taking her lightly by the wrist. “Wait for the cobbercial.”

So Megan waited, and on the next commercial break, she replenished his ice and water, then came around to his side of the bed and helped him sit up so he could get down a couple more aspirin and some more cough medicine. Giving another adorable, “Yecch!”, he dropped back down to his pillow, sniffling as he rubbed his throat.

He said she could stay. She didn’t want to go.

She sat back on the bed. He wasn’t quite on his back, he was turned just slightly on his side, towards her. “Thadk you,” he murmured softly.

Megan smiled, warm and honest. “Glad I could be here,” she replied. She placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a caring rub, and he reached up to entwine his fingers in hers.

Francisco eased his hand, holding hers, down to his chest, holding it close like you might a baby rabbit. Megan sat beside him, a small part of her watching the movie while the rest of her was wrapped up in the sound of his quiet coughs and drowsy sniffles, in the feeling of the mattress moving with his small shifts, in the warm safety of her hand clasped to his chest.

“EHHHHHHH-shooooo-uhhhhh!” he sneezed, reflexively squeezing her fingers as he turned his face toward the pillow. Megan tsked lightly, using her free hand to brush his tousled hair away from his brow.

She wasn’t going anywhere until she knew he was sleeping soundly.

[ID2006]

Mmmm, so glad to hear there is a continuation coming.

[Garnet]

Ohhh my god, the softness and the hot. I'm so glad you decided to write more with these two characters, Megan's narrator voice is so funny and sweet. I adore all of the little nuances, and for as many illness fics as I've consumed in my time, I'm surprised that I can't think of any that put so much thought into the perfect sick day movie to watch. It's maybe a mundane detail, but you flesh it out so nicely and give it character. Warm, fuzzy feelings abound. Thank you for sharing! 

[emten10]

Ohhh this was so good! They had such tender moments together. 🥰 Also I’m very selfishly waiting for the part where she gets sick. 😈 can’t wait for #3!!

[ichixshiro14]

This is perfect!! 😍 I didn't dare hope for a contagious part 3, but I'm so stoked you're going to continue!!! 🤗❤

[Evian]

I love where this is going 

[solitaire-au]

I just stumbled across this by chance when searching for Star Wars content, and loved it! (It doesn’t hurt that I picture Francisco as looking like Pedro Pascal! 😍)

So, then I had to go and read the first part. I eagerly look forward to reading more about them in part 3!