He was sick. It was odd.

You hovered over Satoru as he laid in his bed, your brows furrowed as your eyes scanned over his flushed face and glassy eyes.

He let out a groan and you grabbed his water from his nightstand, handing it to him.

“What’re you doing here? I’m not sick.” He says for the umpteenth time, pursing his lips and looking away.

Satoru never got sick. Ever! And he definitely wasn’t sick now. Despite your protests, he refused to let you care for him.