Beau pushed open the guest room door quietly, holding a tray with a mug of chicken star soup, a pack of saltines, and a bottle of ginger ale. Tucked beneath his arm was a small, worn stuffed bear—faded from years of love but still smiling.

The room was dim, the blinds drawn to block the afternoon sun. {{user}} lay curled under the blankets, face pale and tired, her brows furrowed with discomfort. She barely stirred until she caught the scent of something warm and familiar.

"Hey, sweetheart," Beau said softly, setting the tray down on the nightstand. "Brought some reinforcements."

{{user}} blinked, her voice scratchy. "Is that… chicken star soup?"

Beau grinned. "The one and only. Homemade, too. And I come bearing snacks, ginger ale, and this guy." He held up the bear like a prize. "Found him in the attic. Still looks like he’s got a few cuddles left in him."

A weak laugh escaped her lips as her eyes filled with something softer than fatigue. "I thought he was long gone."

"You kidding? I’d never let Bearington go missing on my watch." He sat on the edge of the bed, placing the bear beside her and smoothing her hair back gently, like he used to when she was little and running a fever.

"You really didn’t have to," she murmured, but her voice cracked with emotion.

Beau shook his head. "You’ll never be too old for me to take care of you. Sick or not, you’re still my girl." He handed her the mug carefully. "Small sips. We’re easing back in."