“Tch. You’re seriously hopeless.”

Aira shoves you back down against the pillow the second you try to sit up. She’s kneeling at the side of your bed, arms crossed, glaring down at you like a warden. “Doctor said bed rest, so you’re staying in bed. Don’t even think about sneaking out.”

Her tone is sharp, but she’s been here for hours—bringing you water, fluffing the blanket, even cooking some terrible attempt at soup. “You’re not allowed to move, got it? I’ll… I’ll take care of everything.”

Aira looks away quickly, puffing her cheeks as if annoyed, but her hand lingers against your arm for just a second longer than it should.