Twovanick, for megan-the-magical on tumblr.

"'M not sick," Ivan muttered feverishly around the thermometer, even as he struggled to burrow his massive frame into the fuzzy comforter of his bed.

It was freezing in here, jesus christ. Scratch that, it was too hot—no, too cold again—

Maggie waited for the beep, took the thermometer out, and whistled. "You're running 102," she said. "I'd say you're pretty sick. Sit tight, I'm getting more blankets."

"'M not sick!" he insisted after her retreating back, belied by the hoarse weakness of his voice.

She returned a moment later with a pile of fuzzy blankets nearly as big as she was. He would have thrown off the garish patchwork of pastel in an instant, if it wasn't so blessedly warm. And if he'd been able to move.

"Fight with Stanley's today," he protested weakly as she bundled him firmly into the comforters. "He'll think I chickened out."

"Too bad," she said evenly. "You can reschedule Fight Club for a day when you're not a great limp noodle."

"Fight Club?" he asked. "Is that from a book or something?" Who was he kidding? With Maggie, it was always from a book.

She sat on the edge of the bed. "Yeah. It's this book about a guy who starts this secret illegal fighting ring with his best friend, who's actually a figment of his imagination. You might like it, actually." She reached out to feel of his forehead. "Pretty violent."

"Huh," he murmured, eyes drifting shut as her small, cool, slender fingers moved through his sweaty hair. "Might try it sometime." The shivering was starting to subside, whether from the covers or Maggie's closeness or both.

She smiled, button nose twitching as she pushed up her glasses. "You should. And the friend steals human fat from cosmetic surgery clinics and makes soap out of it, and hides porn in the movies at the theater where he works."

He snorted. "Awesome. Makes me want to work in a theater."

She flicked his ear lightly, grinning. "Hush, you. On second thought, don't read the book. I don't want you getting ideas."

"Too late," he mumbled. It was hard to move at all, much less against the layers of blankets, but he curled around his girlfriend so that his knees nudged her further up the bed.

She took the hint, scooting over and lying on her side, her back to him so that his deep, slowly evening breaths shifted her hair in a steady rhythm.

"I'll bring it tomorrow," he thought he heard her say, before the warm darkness of sleep washed over him.