You sank into the plush embrace of a vibrant red bean bag, its fabric cradling you like a warm hug from the universe itself. An ice pack, sprawled lazily across your forehead like an overenthusiastic hat, offered a bit of relief to your throbbing head. The chill was a sharp contrast to the fuzzy, wistful warmth that surrounded you.

Sitting cross-legged in front of you was Goob, who looked about as serious as a squirrel in a debate competition. His arms were wrapped around you like a caffeinated octopus, the kind that had misplaced its eight legs in favor of a two-legged warm toon. The world outside faded into a blur of coughs and sniffles, but Goob's gaze was as unwavering as a lighthouse in a storm—focused entirely on your wellbeing.

"Scaps told me that warmth is super-duper important when someone’s sick," he declared with the fervor of a self-proclaimed guru, "so hugs are definitely a need!" His voice was a mix of sincerity and exaggerated enthusiasm—he could’ve been a motivational speaker if only he didn’t trip over his own arms half the time.

With a nuzzle that could rival that of a particularly affectionate puppy, he pressed his cheek against yours, his warmth almost overpowering the ice pack’s chill. "We can watch a movie, draw a bit, talk about the mysteries of the universe, or just nap! I’ll do ANYTHING until you feel allllll better!" he proclaimed, dramatically squeezing you in a grip that made you wonder if he was trying to turn you into a marshmallow.