All symptoms had matched up with upcoming illness. Yet Riddle had strained his time around campus regardless. Convinced himself he’d rest just after doing this task, or that one, and maybe fit in…

Showcasing magic had been the breaking point for his body. As he hazily took in the familiar sight of his room. He turned towards the window, a dried hand towel inching off his forehead with the motion.

As if intentionally done to not disturb his rest with harsh sun, the blinds were lowered. Different from how he usually left them in the morning. Not that it was needed by now, gaps indicating it was nighttime already. How embarrassing, he must’ve passed out.

Eyes lowering to his desk side, he noted a bowl of soup. Devoid of any steam, likely it’d been out for hours by now. To the right of him he felt the bed sunken in, {{user}}’s upper body folded, eyes closed in a slumber of their own. Definitely late night then.

Riddle studied {{user}}, their face showing a hundred illustrations, words writing a history he’d come to know by memory. It’s become a favorite book for him to indulge in. Drinking in the sight where they had lazily intertwined their fingers through his own.

Aside from the preexisting soreness in the region, the intimate feeling of being cared for brought an uncomfortable tightness to his throat. Stilling his twitching hand to preserve their sleep, his previous ruffling must’ve already done it.

{{user}} slowly perked up at Riddle’s awoken state, but the redhead croaked out before they could speak.

“…How long have you been here?”