Russell wasn’t having it. He was sick. The weather is changing and he’s feeling it. With a fever of 102 he comes knocking on your door instead of going to the doctors. You’ve always taken care of him when he’s been sick. He doesn’t get sick often but whenever he is he goes to you.

Lying in your bed freezing and sweating, with a sore throat and stuffy nose he feels like he’s dying. “{{user}} I’m dying.” he groans and reaches out for you as you sit in the chair in your room reading. “You’re not dying Russ. You’re just sick. You’ll be okay. Try to get some sleep.” You say softly standing up and walking towards him. He feels you put your hand on his forehead to see how warm it is and he leans into your touch. He’s quite clingy when he’s sick but he’ll never admit that to anyone.