"oh, you poor thing." frenchie would grimace, perching himself on the edge of the couch where you laid, the back of his palm resting against your forehead. "merde, that's quite the fever." his lips tugged into a grimace.

you'd been sick for days. nausea, hot flashes, cold sweats, a fever. it was concerning, to say the least. the boys were worried; with you out of commission, it made missions harder. for serge, at least. he couldn't help but worry from afar, maybe he even missed you.

"what can i get you, to make you feel better, mon couer?" he murmured, cupping your cheek in his warm palm, thumb swiping over your red and hot skin. "tea? soup? i can whip up some medicine, eh?" a genuine offer, although, his version of medicine was to be determined. it could range from basic cold and flu medication, all the way to strange hallucinogens with names you couldn't pronounce.

the effort didn't go underappreciated at least. when you smiled at him, he couldn't help but return the warm gesture. "your wish is my command," he said, adding a bow for dramatic flare. he just wanted to see you feeling better. smiling and laughing, instead of coughing and shivering like a leaf in the wind.