"You're shaky. You'll spill." It was a reasonable excuse, though I knew my motivation went deeper. I wanted to take care of Pip like this, wanted to see him accept it.
Not always. But on certain occasions it would be nice to be his caregiver, his Daddy, in all ways.
"Okay," he said quietly, and opened his mouth.
I fed him slowly, careful to blow on each spoonful first. My boy accepted it without protest, eyes locked on my face. The trust he had in me made me feel like a damn superhero.
When he was done with it all, I set the empty bowl aside, then used a napkin to wipe a drop of broth from the corner of Pip's mouth.
The gesture was simple. Practical, really. But the way he leaned into the touch, eyes half-closing, transformed it into a moment that felt far more intimate.
"You like when I do that," I observed.
"When you do what?”
"Take care of you. Tell you what to do. Handle the small things." I cupped Pip's jaw, thumb brushing his cheek. "You’ve lit up every time I give you direction."
His body went tight. "Is that bad?"
"No, baby. It's exactly what I want. You asking me what to eat, what to wear, when to sleep. Trusting me to make those decisions for you."
"I do trust you." Pip turned his face into my palm. "More than I've ever trusted anyone. And it is nice to not have to think today. Brain hurts right now."
The confession deserved acknowledgment. I leaned in and kissed his forehead softly.
"Get some more rest. I'll wake you in a few hours for more medication and food."
He settled back into the pillows, eyes already closing. "Will you be here when I wake up?"
"I'll be in my office working. But I'll check on you regularly."
"Good." His voice was fading. "Like knowing where you are. Makes the buzzing stop."
I stayed until his breathing evened out into sleep, then quietly left the room. I returned to my office and the paperworkI needed to handle, but my mind kept drifting back to the bedroom.
To Pip looking to me for direction on every small decision. I knew most of it was because of him being sick. He wasn’t in his right mind. Yet I had a feeling this was merely who he was at his core. He kept himself in check day-to-day, but in his weakened state, my boy needed me to fully take the lead.
I was absolutely fine with that. In fact, I wanted more of it.
I handled decisions all day. Money, strategy, risk assessment. By the time I came home, I was exhausted from the constant calculations. But with Pip, it was different. These decisions were simple, intimate. Acts of care rather than logical deep dives.
And Pip didn't just accept it. He craved the connection. Needed our bond in a way that made me want to provide for him constantly.
I worked for another hour, making good progress, before checking on Pip again. Still sleeping, his fever felt like it was finally breaking. I set an alarm for when he would need more medication and returned to work.
The routine continued through the afternoon. Wake Pip, give him medicine, make him eat, watch him follow every instruction without question. Each time, I provided direction. Drink this. Eat that. Rest now. Take the medication.
And each time, Pip obeyed immediately, that hunger for guidance clear in his eyes.
By evening, my boy was feeling well enough to sit up properly. I had moved him to the couch, wrapped in a blanket, with orders to stay put while I made dinner.
"What are we having?" Pip called from the living room.
"Chicken and rice," I replied. "Easy to digest and packed with protein."
"Can I help?"
"No. You rest."
