Ken wakes up sluggish and sniffling, to your hand gently pressed against his forehead. He moves away from your touch, not wanting you to know he’s feeling ill.

“You’re burning up, Ken,” you inform him quietly, purposefully making your voice soothing. He’s already well aware of the fact, judging by his grumbling at the words.

“I’m not sick, {{user}},” he denies, sounding way too stubborn. Though the sniffle he lets out afterwards betrays his claim.