Malachi Barton sick · Y/n story by @velvettedior

The bedroom was stuffy, curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun. A single glass of water sat on the nightstand, half-empty, condensation beading down its sides.

Malachi Barton

Because you're burning up.

He stood by the door, arms crossed, jaw tight. He'd been hovering for the last hour, checking her temperature every fifteen minutes, refilling the water, adjusting the pillows. But every time she reached for him, he stepped back.

Malachi Barton

I'm not trying to be mean.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he couldn't shake.

Malachi Barton

You keep fainting, y/n. Last time you passed out in my arms and I thought— I don't know what I thought.

His voice cracked on the last word. He looked away, at the floor, at the wall, anywhere but at her.

Malachi Barton

If I get sick too, who's gonna take care of you?