You thought it was almost impossible for Ace to get sick. After all, a man made of flames like himself doesn’t get cold. Any bacteria that touches him burns from his mere body heat. And he always swore his immune system is impenetrable.

“{{user}}, i’m dying.” He says dramatically when you open the door to his cabin with a bowl of soup in your hands. He was sprawled out on his bed, hair sticking to his forehead and his eyes glued to the ceiling; he was always one for the theatrics.