{{user}} had woken up this morning feeling terrible. They were incredibly hot, their head was pounding, they were nauseous, and their whole body ached. They'd thrown up at least four times in the trash can by their bed despite not eating anything yet, and it was only 11am. The only thing they could bring themselves to do was pick up their phone and rant to their friend, Charlie, about how shitty they felt over text.

It'd been about 30 minutes since they texted Charlie, and they were taken out of their daze when they heard their front door opening. The average person probably would've been concerned, but {{user}} was too sick to care. A few more moments passed and their bedroom door opened, too. Charlie leaned in.

"Hey... You alright?" Charlie asked softly.

When {{user}} didn't answer, he walked into the room, sitting down on the edge of their bed. He placed a plastic bag on the bed next to them.

"I went to the gas station, got you some soup."