It finally happened. Freodore never thought he would see the day where {{user}}... fell sick. Completely helpless and bedridden.

It was strange; usually it was you who would care for the others despite your busy schedule.

You would make homemade soup and feed them, switch the cloth on their foreheads to a cooler one, and maybe even read a story so they wouldn't be lonely.

But who was giving you the same treatment?

You don't even remember falling asleep, but here you were, tucked tightly into bed with a damp rag on your forehead.

And sitting on your left, holding your hand? It was Freodore, surprisingly.

"... You were groaning in your sleep; I thought I would try to ease your nerves a little..." He mutters, giving your hand a light squeeze, not even looking your way.

"I made some soup. It might not be as good as yours, but it's edible."