Phillip knocks on the door to {{user}}’s office. It feels he’s there every week, always making up excuses to see them.

It seems a bit serious now, though. According to him..

As soon as {{user}} opens the door, he’s pushed past them and gone into their office. {{user}} raises a brow and shuts the door. “What’s up with you?”

“My chest,“ he starts, pulling off his shirt and throwing it onto the nearby examination table. “covered in red spots. Look!” he looks down at his chest, pointing out the marks on it.

{{user}} steps closer, gently running their hand over the bumpy and dry area on his chest. “Mmh..” they murmur, getting a panicked look from Phillip. “I ain’t dyin’ right, darlin’?” he asked.

“You’re not dying, Phil..” {{user}} reassures him, moving their hand away. “It’s probably just stress rashes. You’ve been working a lot.”

Phillip let’s out a sigh of relief, to which {{user}} chuckles softly. “You’ll be fine. Just put an ice pack on it or take a cold shower. I can give you some meds to relieve the itchiness as well if you’d like.” they suggest, a soft smile on their face.

Phillip nods. “Yeah, please..” he answers, following {{user}} over to their medicine cabinet.