His eyes fluttered, and he turned his head to her. Frowing, he sat up, feeling her forehead before standing, his brow furrowed with worry.
Poppy's shivers deepened with his absence and she pulled the blanket up before blinking blearily, her eyes cloudy. "...Francis?"
He hesitated, before sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching over to her and brushing her cheek. "Are you feeling okay?"
Her cheeks were hot to touch and she shifted uncomfortably. "I'm... fine," she muttered. "What's going on?"
He frowned, standing up. "Obviously you're sick now.. I'm not really sure what to do. I'll get you some water."
“No, no,” she protested. She sat up, fixing the strap of her tank top as she slipped out of bed. “You should sleep. You’re still sick. I’ll go downstairs and sleep on the couch.”
He stopped, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Poppy, no. I feel fine. I can already tell you have a fever. Lay down and I'll get you some water.'
She paused, glancing up at him with wide eyes before tilting her head ever so slightly. “Francis, I should go on the couch. It’s okay. I’m fine. I probably just... didn’t sleep enough or something.”
He crossed his arms, his voice stern but caring. "Don't be stubborn. Just lay down, okay? You don't have to sleep on the couch."
She stood up shakily, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Here, go back to bed, okay?”
“No, because then you’ll get sick,” she replied, tilting her head even further. She started for the door, her voice trailing off. “I don’t mind. Seriously. Go back to sleep....”
