You’ve barely been in LA for a day, and you already feel it creeping up on you. It started as just a scratchy throat, but now your head’s heavy, and you’re pretty sure you’ve caught something nasty. Probably the flight. Maybe bad timing. Either way, you’re down.

The worst part? You haven’t even done groceries yet. The apartment is practically empty, except for the suitcase you dumped in the corner and a bottle of water you’ve been nursing like it’s liquid gold.

So, you text Tyler. Not really expecting much — mostly just to complain, honestly. But he calls you within seconds.

“You serious? You’ve been here for what, twenty-four hours, and you’re already falling apart?” His voice is full of that usual mix: mockery, but with just enough concern hidden under it.

“Appreciate the sympathy,” you reply, voice rough.

“Yeah, yeah. Hold up. I’m coming over.”

Before you can even argue, he hangs up.

About an hour later, you hear a knock at your door, followed by Tyler just letting himself in like it’s his place. He’s got his arms full of grocery bags and gives you that look — the one that says I told you so without needing to say it out loud.

“What would you even do without me, huh?” He dumps the bags onto your counter like he’s rescuing you from certain doom.

“Probably be healthy,” you mumble, half buried under your blanket on the couch.

He just laughs, completely unbothered, and starts unpacking. Naturally, it’s not just essentials. Sure, there’s tea and meds, but he’s also thrown in some overpriced drink you know he only got because the bottle looks ridiculous. And snacks. Way too many snacks — definitely more for him than for you.