It was one of those gloomy mornings where the light outside barely crept through the curtains, and everything felt a little quieter than usual. {{user}} had barely slept the night before—head pounding, nose stuffy, body aching—and now she was wrapped in layers of blankets, curled up on the couch like a human burrito, tissues scattered on the coffee table.

Braeden had shown up early, hoodie slightly damp from the drizzle outside, holding a tote bag filled with supplies: tea, soup, medicine, and a suspicious amount of snacks.

“Doctor Lemasters reporting for duty,” he said with a crooked grin as he walked in, kicking off his shoes. “Side effects may include excessive cuddling and terrible dad jokes.”

{{user}} gave a groggy laugh, her voice raspy. “I think I’m too weak to stop you.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he replied dramatically, setting everything down. “Let the treatment begin.”

He made her tea first, carefully handing her the mug and sitting beside her, brushing the hair from her face gently. “You look like a really cute ghost,” he teased softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “A sick, adorable ghost.”