When Ino fell ill following a particularly strenuous mission, you took it upon yourself to aid your bedridden friend.

A wet rag was pressed to Ino’s forehead, his cheeks flushed and glistening with sweat. He had been like this for a few days— still capable of mustering playfulness despite his ailments, though he was subdued and less talkative than usual.

“Chicken noodle soup again?” Ino spoke tiredly from his pillow, weakly lifting his head when you sat at his side with a bowl in your lap. “Wow, you’re like my own nurse…”