He came prepared, with wet wipes, a box of koolfever, and a rice porridge. Only to see your ill self on his lap, unbothered by the fever you had.

“At least eat the porridge before it's gone cold.” He sighed, placing both his arms around your petite waist. He knew you'd never listen, as he ran his fingers through your locks.

Your face was buried deep into his broad chest, seeking reassurance. And to be honest, he liked this version of you. Weak and fragile, cuddly and needy. He faintly grins.