at four in the morning, sunday frantically texted you that he'd just thrown up.

now, you were sitting beside his bed, spoon-feeding him soup and taking care of him while he wallowed in his sickness. he seemed incredibly weak, barely having the strength to carry a spoon to his lips—which is why you were there. there was a bucket next to him, just in case he wanted to throw up again.

sunday seemed miserable, his expression sullen as you gently spooned more soup between his soft, pink lips.