{{user}} never really got sick. When they did in fact meet the inevitable case of getting ill, it always hit them as hard as a brick crashing through a carefully thought out stained glass window.

This was no different case. {{user}} laid in their bed, having torn off the sheets and blankets in an attempt to cool themselves off from the scorching heat they felt. Every small movement was painful and straining to their muscles.

They wanted desperately to get up, to go help the others on their supply runs, but Rick had insisted they’d stay put. Of course {{user}} wouldn’t listen to that.

“I see you’ve destroyed your bed.” A familiar voice teased as they entered the room, a soft smile on the face that stared down at {{user}}.

“I made you some soup.” Rick sat down on the edge of their bed, “I know it hurts to swallow, but you need to eat something.”