The door creaked open and Abby stepped inside, looking around the room like she expected trouble. She spotted you curled up on the couch, looking pale and miserable, surrounded by crumpled up tissues and your packet of cold meds, still unopened.

“Seriously?” she muttered, dropping her bag with a sigh. “You haven’t taken a single one?”

She walked over, crouched in front of you, and pressed the back of her hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up, babe.”

There was a moment of silence before she sighed again, less annoyed this time, more worried.

“You can’t just ignore this. You think I like watching you get worse?”

She stood up and headed to the kitchen. “I brought soup and the good cold meds. Sit up. I’m not asking.”