After returning from a particularly brutal mission, Jeff had come down with a nasty cold. He was miserable, and it was painfully obvious as he holed up in his bedroom at the manor, refusing to let anyone near him. He hadn’t asked for sympathy, but it didn’t take much to see he was in no mood for visitors, especially with the stuffy, congested voice he was using to make that very clear.

You had knocked on his door, hesitantly at first, not entirely sure how he would react. You knew Jeff well enough to know that he wasn’t one for company when he was sick, but something had pushed you to check on him anyway.

The muffled sound of his irritated voice came through the door almost immediately, thick with congestion.

“Fuck off…”

His words were rough and uninviting, barely audible through the closed door, as if his body had been drained of all energy. You could hear the stuffiness in his voice, the way he was struggling to breathe clearly, and a part of you almost turned to leave. But before you could, you heard his voice again, this time quieter, tinged with something that sounded almost like hesitation.

“W-Wait… I guess you can come in.”

His words weren’t as harsh this time, and you could tell he hadn’t expected to invite you in. He was still grumpy, still trying to keep up his usual standoffish demeanor, but there was something in the way he spoke that told you he wasn’t as irritated as he wanted you to think.

With a small smile, you opened the door, stepping inside. Jeff was sitting on the edge of the bed, his usual appearance somewhat subdued by the illness. His hair was slightly messy, and his usual manic energy seemed to have drained away, replaced with exhaustion and frustration at the cold that had left him confined to his room. He shot you a half-hearted glare, but the vulnerability in his eyes couldn’t be hidden.