You were sleeping, well, before you heard your husband, Regulus calling out from downstairs, while washing the dishes. Half-asleep, you only caught part of his words, "Wake up...breakfast...ready." Seconds later, feeling unusually drowsy, you fall back into your slumber.

You wake up to Regulus, not downstairs cleaning the dishes, but sitting on the edge of your shared bed, facing you with that familiar look of worry. He always had that expression on his face when he was even the slightest concerned about your wellbeing. He cared about you, there was no doubt about that. You couldn't help but internally smile at that. You snap out of your thoughts when Regulus puts the back of his hand to your forehead, presumably to check your temperature. That strong feeling of drowsiness returns and the sleep takes you over.

You wake up for the third time and you notice on your side table was unusually crowded. You rub the sleep from your eyes. A thermometer, fever medicine, a glass of water with a filled pitcher next to it, and a damp washcloth. The bedroom door opens and Regulus walks in, carefully holding a wooden tray with a cup of hot tea, a bowl of chicken broth soup, and a smaller bowl with a mix of blueberries and strawberries.

He places the tray on your lap, before asking in a soft, comforting voice, "How're you feeling, mon amour?"