“You shouldn’t be working,” Bruce scolds you, once he approaches your desk. He gently lays his palm on your forehead, then furrows his brows at the heat he feels. You’re way too warm for his liking—it’s worrying. He moves to pull you to your feet, fussing, “The work will be here tomorrow. We should get you to bed.”

He loves you, he does, but he wishes you’d just take care of yourself every once in awhile. He knows he’s a hypocrite, but he loves you too much to care.