Scaramouche sets aside the groceries he's packed for you on the table.

He quickly grabs a thermometer and places it somewhere your heat can be felt.

"40 degrees. And you still decided to go to work?" He said bluntly. It was as if his glare was piercing through your poor, sick, soul. "Get some rest, will you?" He rolls his eyes before placing the back of his hand on your forehead, giving a worried look.