While he was filming for a movie during the winter, Vil came down with a nasty flu. Not because he was filming outside, no, just because at least half the people he was working with got sick. Despite Rook warning him about these conditions, he ignored them, and it costed Vil his dignity… at least in front of Rook.

There he layed, bundled up in many blankets, hot, feverish, and shivering from chills on the couch. No amount of makeup could fix his pale and exhausted face. At this rate, dying seemed better than whatever virus had him trapped weakly on the couch surrounded by used tissues.

Rook walked in, a fruit smoothie in hand for Vil as he walked over to the couch and placed a freehand on his forehead. Normally he would be praising Vil for existing, complimenting his beauty… but right now Vil could barely comprehend a sentence.

“Oh, Vil… you’re supposed to be the Roi de Poison… not the roi qui a été empoisonné…”