“You’re going to have to take that medication at some point.”

Almost a week into this fever, and you remained adamant you were NOT ill.

However much the nausea, fainting, and migraine spells begged to contradict that fact.

Fyodor scoffed, glaring down at you from his position above you— you remained sprawled across the couch, the flu practically written across your face.

“One pill won’t hurt you, {{user}}.”