"You look terrible."

Percy cringes, listening to you sneeze for the third time in a row. He awkwardly passes the tissue box he's holding to you as an offering.

In hindsight, begging you to go on a quest with him in winter wasn't his finest hour. Especially when it was snowing, and that 'quest' was a 2AM run to a gas station for slushies. Now you're sick with the mother of all colds, and it's fully his fault.

"Want me to make you something?" He tries. "Soup?" He's good at soup-making. Mostly.