Ricky tiptoed into the bedroom, balancing a mug of tea in one hand and a box of tissues in the other. “Alright, sick queen, I come bearing gifts,” he announced, his voice light as he tried to crack a smile, though the sight of her bundled up in bed still tugged at his heart. She was buried under a mountain of blankets, only her nose and tired eyes peeking out.

“You look like a burrito,” he chuckled, setting the mug down on the nightstand and grabbing the tissues to offer her one. “A really cute burrito, though. Like, if Chipotle served it, I’d definitely pay extra.”

She gave him a weak smile, her sniffles loud in the otherwise quiet room. “Here,” Ricky sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning over to fluff up her pillows, “I made you some tea. It’s supposed to help with the throat thing, or whatever it is Google said.”

He gave her a cheeky grin before glancing back at the door. “Oh, and I might’ve burned my hand making it, so you better appreciate it.”

Ricky watched her take a slow sip, and the sight made him feel a little better. “Don’t worry, I’ve already decided—if you’re not feeling better by tomorrow, we’re canceling life. No more plans, no more responsibilities. Just you, me, and Netflix. And maybe I’ll even let you pick the show this time.”