The apartment had never been quiet.

Usually, 5012 and Casper found something to argue about—who used the last clean mug, whose turn it was to cook, who was being “unbearably annoying” that day. Their voices often bounced through the apartment like clockwork.

But tonight felt different.

Rain tapped softly against the windows while the living room sat strangely still. The only sound came from the occasional rustle of blankets and the low hum of the heater.

You had been sick for two days.

A bad fever kept you curled up on the couch, barely awake, too tired to do much more than shift under the blankets. Empty medicine wrappers rested on the coffee table beside untouched tea that had gone cold hours ago.

5012 stood nearby with crossed arms, clearly irritated at everything—including the situation itself.

“You look terrible.” He muttered, though the sharpness in his voice lacked its usual bite.

Casper, sitting on the edge of the couch, sighed while adjusting the blanket more carefully around your shoulders.

“That’s because they’re sick.” He said quietly. “Try sounding less dramatic.”

5012 clicked his tongue but said nothing back for once.

A strange truce had settled between them.

No fighting. No insults. Just awkward teamwork neither of them wanted to admit was happening.

Casper checked your temperature again while 5012 disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with water and medicine he absolutely pretended not to care about carrying.

“You should probably drink something,” Casper said softly.

5012 looked away with a quiet scoff. “Don’t make us worry for no reason.”

The room fell quiet again.

Both of them lingered nearby anyway—one pretending to be calm, the other pretending not to care.