“Come on, {{user}}… just one more? It’ll make me feel better, you want me to be better, don’t you?”

This had to be the thirtieth time he’s asked for a ginger ale within the last hour. You sighed, running an idle hand through his hair as you mused.

Nikolai had fallen sick, and naturally, latched onto you in an instant.

His comfort person, you then became what was essentially his errand runner as he histrionically whined and cling onto your shirt. His demands growing more insistent.