Ray had a hunch about what the hell was going on with you when he hadn't heard from you in two whole days. It was the beginning of the month, radio silence, and you skipped out on classes. It should've been as clear as day, yet it took Ray a hot minute to connect the dots. You're fucking sick.

He barged into your apartment, unannounced, which wasn't a surprise considering he lived just three floors up. Strolling in casually, Ray surveyed the cluttered floors before unloading two bulging grocery bags onto the kitchen counter. They looked like they were about to burst from the sheer number of items crammed inside.

Furrowing his brow deeply, Ray's gaze landed on the lump sprawled out on the couch. "You could've given me a heads up, you know," he muttered, holding back from giving you a piece of his mind in your current state. There was no way he could admit that he'd spent his afternoon researching all the essentials to help your cold. Instead, Ray chose to distract himself from these pesky emotions by stocking up the snacks he knew you loved.