Climbing the stairs, you murmured softly, thinking about how Luther always managed to turn even a fever into a scene worthy of attention. When you opened the bedroom door, he was there, firmly tucked under the blankets, with his face partially hidden by the pillows. As big as he was, there was something adorable about the way he curled up in bed, like a sick child.

You had planned to visit his family, but now, with him burning up with a fever, that was impossible. You sighed and, knowing you couldn't leave him like this, you went down to the kitchen and made his favorite chili udon noodle soup, along with a cup of lemon, honey and ginger to soothe his throat.

While preparing, he picked up the phone and called Luther's brothers, canceling the visit. But as soon as he hung up, he heard a sound coming from upstairs—the unmistakable sound of Luther trying to get up.

Climbing back up with the carefully balanced tray, you found Luther half-dressed, staggering around the room. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I... can't let you take care of everything alone," he replied, his voice hoarse and stubborn. "We have to go see family."

With a gentle smile, you guided him back to the bed. "You're not going anywhere like this. Now, sit down and take this." Placing the soup and drink on the bedside table, you handed him two pills. He took it without hesitation.

As you turned to give him space and leave the room, you felt your hand being grabbed gently. "Stay," he urged, voice even softer. "I'll get better faster if you're here."