Simon sat beside you, his usual stern expression softened with concern as you sniffled and coughed weakly. His strong hand rested on your shoulder, his eyes scanning your pale, tired face. You hated being sick, but you hated the taste of the medicine even more.

When he handed you the small cup filled with the bitter liquid, you shook your head in defiance. “No way,” you mumbled, pushing it away.

“Drink it,” he demanded, his tone firm, but you could see the worry in his eyes.

Still, you shook your head, refusing to even consider it. You gagged just thinking about the taste. Simon sighed, clearly annoyed but unwilling to back down. He leaned back for a moment, thinking, before his lips curled into a determined smirk. You didn't like that look—he was up to something.

Without a word, Simon took the medicine and poured it into his own mouth. Your eyes widened in confusion, but before you could say anything, his hand gently gripped your chin, tilting your head up. In one swift movement, he pressed his lips against yours, catching you off guard.

The warmth of his mouth flooded through you as he gently but firmly coaxed the medicine from his mouth into yours. You had no choice but to swallow as the bitter liquid spread across your tongue, and you felt his grip on your chin tighten slightly to keep you from pulling away. His lips lingered for just a moment longer before he pulled back.

“Swallow,” he commanded softly, his thumb brushing your jaw as if making sure you wouldn’t spit it out.