A/N: Written for the domesticity fluff prompts meme on Tumblr - and yes, I am absolutely getting to my other prompts in other fandoms from that. This is so domestic and sweet it... may be a little hard on your blood sugar levels. Originally posted to AO3 in early 2015.

Curt had been sick the week before, just bad enough to force him to cancel a gig because he'd gone too hoarse to sing. Still, he did a decent job of filling the flat he and Arthur shared with his moaning and muttering while Arthur looked after him as best he could. He'd never seen Curt like this before. He was sort of cute, grumbling and pacing like a caged animal until his strength would fail and he would have to lie down again. The indignity bothered him, as if surviving years of heroin addiction and of living completely on the edge should have made him immune to anything as trivial and middle class as the flu.

"The fuck is this?" Curt had asked once or twice, melodramatically, Arthur thought. He'd had to work to avoid laughing at him.

Then Arthur caught the same flu twice as bad. He missed more days of work than he had in the past year – even missed the last of those damn computer training sessions he'd kept putting off; Lou wouldn't be happy about that. But he couldn't care much right now. He could barely lift his head to cough, in fact, and lay in bed alternatingly sweating and freezing, with a heavy, aching tightness in his chest.

He expected Curt to be rubbish at taking care of him. Curt surprised him, however: he hovered over their bed, which Arthur supposed was better than being alone when he felt like crap. Mugs of tea or tall glasses of cool water appeared on the bedside table, too, in between Arthur's copious napping, and at one point he woke up to catch Curt opening a box of chocolate chip cookies that he had crammed onto the edge of the night table. His favourite brand, or rather both their favourite. Arthur smiled ruefully at the sight.

"Thanks," he murmured.

He could see the grin Curt shot him through the bleariness of his eyes.

"Well," Curt said, "I'm – you know, sorry…"

Arthur laughed. It was a little ridiculous, being so domestic with Curt Wild, the legend – sharing his life and flat and, apparently, the stupid bloody cold he'd had.

The laugh turned into a cough which made Arthur jerk his head upright.

"All right there?" Curt asked.

"Yeah," Arthur managed once the spasm of coughing subsided. He lay back down, and felt sweat trickling down his temples. No wonder: his hair was so damp he might have just stepped out of a shower or a swimming pool. For fuck's sake…

"D'you want anything?" Curt said, holding out a cookie. "Your favourite…"

Arthur reached for Curt's hand. The cookie broke apart, spraying crumbs onto the bedding as half of it dropped down out of sight, probably into the thick carpet between bed and night table. For some reason Arthur thought of his mum, and of how she might have responded had she seen the mess he was making – how annoyed she would have been, though she was like him, really, and was always too mild to start much of a row over anything.

His chest tightened. This time, he didn't think it was from the cough or the congestion. But then Curt was laughing beside him again and saying fuck it, and Arthur thought it best to focus his blurred and limited attention on the sound of his boyfriend's voice.