IMAGINE: Orlando, your dad, taking care of you when you're sick

     Orlando, your dad, knocks on your closed bedroom door. "Y/N, come on, you need to get up for school." He says. You let out a loud moan in response and bury yourself deeper into your blankets. You woke up early this morning feeling feverish. It's only managed to get worse as the morning goes on. "If you get in trouble for being late, it's going to be your fault." Orlando tells you. You don't answer him, your throat hurting too much to even talk. There's silence from the other side of the door for a minute. And then there's a persistent knock. "Y/N, I'm serious. I'm coming in." Orlando states, before pushing the door open. He pulls open the blinds, letting the sunlight shine through. You groan and throw your blankets over your head, the light searing into your eyeballs. He pulls the covers away from your head and you tiredly blink up at him. "Y/N, come on—" Orlando stops short once he takes a good look at you. He squints. "Are you okay?" He asks worriedly. "If you think aching from head to toe, having a fever, and having the world's worst headache is okay, then yeah. I'm just peachy." You mutter sarcastically. Orlando places his hand across your forehead and immediately draws it back with a gasp, his eyes wide in horror. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry." He breathes. "I-I had no idea." He shakes his head. "I'll be right back." He says, before hurrying out of the room. He comes back ten minutes later with a cold rag, medicine, and tea. You barely open your eyes to look at him. "I have to get you better, Y/N." "Dad, it's fine. I'll just sleep it off." You murmur. He laughs under his breath. "No. No way, Y/N. Just because you're a teenager doesn't mean you're not my little girl anymore. I'm sticking by your side until you get better." Your eyes pop open. "Don't you have to go to work?" He shrugs. "I'll call off. They have plenty of other scenes to film. You're more important." You smile weakly. "Thanks, dad." You whisper. He presses the cold rag to your forehead and you sigh. "Y/N, one question, why didn't you tell me you were sick?" You wince. "Uh. Well, I didn't want to worry you. I was going to pretend to get ready for school until you left for work, and then I would've just stayed in bed. But plans changed and I couldn't even move out of bed." You explain. "Y/N." Orlando says in surprise. "You were going to lie to me?" "I was...but look on the bright side—I didn't." You reply innocently. "Yeah, because I found out before you could!" He exclaims. "Touché." You grin. Your dad just sighs heavily and shakes his head. "You take your medicine. I'm going to make some soup for you." He says, standing. "You really don't have to go through so much trouble." You croak out as he walks out of the room. "Yes, I do. You're my daughter. If you were to take care of yourself, you'd watch Netflix until your eyeballs popped out and eat a few tubs of ice cream." He singsongs down the hall. You open your mouth to argue but then abruptly shut it. You shrug. "Well he's not wrong." You laugh to yourself. --- For the rest of the day, Orlando takes care of you—making you soup and tea, keeping a cold rag on your forehead, and making sure you have everything you need. That night he sits in your room and you both eat soup together. "Dad, I swear, if you stay in here any longer with me, you're going to get sick. And you won't be able to work." You say. "Y/N, I don't care." He laughs. "Work isn't important to me. I mean, it is, but you're my first priority. You always have been and you always will be. I know sometimes I get so caught up in work that we go a few days without seeing each other, but, Y/N, I love you so much. I'd do anything for you—even catching your cold just because I'm trying to help you get better. Being a parent is a sacrificial kind of love. If I get sick, I get sick. At least I'll know I got it because I was helping my girl get better." He tells you. Tears sting your eyes and you, embarrassed, quickly blink them away. "Thanks, dad. For everything. I know I don't say it a lot, but I mean it." You choke out. Orlando gently hugs you. "I love you, Y/N." He whispers. "I love you too, dad." You whisper back, squeezing your eyes shut. [THE END] I hope you liked it!