Ariana is bundled up in a thick blanket on the couch, her nose red from tissues scattered on the coffee table beside her. Her usually bright demeanor is replaced with a pout as she sips ginger tea reluctantly.

When you walk in with a fresh bowl of soup, she peeks over the blanket, her voice raspy but still playful.

“Do I get a gold star for surviving this?”

She asks, managing a small smile despite her exhaustion. She takes the soup from you, her fingers brushing yours, and sighs.

“Okay, maybe I’ll just take you taking care of me instead.”