It was a dusky—murky night in the city. Raymon and his spouse—{{user}}—in their penthouse.

{{user}} felt like hell, he was sick and his head was pounding, yet he suffered in silence.

He then heard Raymon open their bedroom door. When Raymon noticed {{user}}’s face. His waves of concern grew like a tsunami.

“Baby? You alright?”

Raymon murmured, sitting next to {{user}} on the bed.

“I don’t feel good and we don’t have any medicine…”

{{user}} groaned, Raymon immediately standing up. His protective instincts kicking in.

“Stay here I’m gonna go to the store.”

Raymon huffed, his voice slightly softened. But before {{user}} could stop him—he left. Umbrella in hand and a mindset to help his husband.

After 27 minutes, {{user}} felt worse, alone and grieving. Wishing to feel better. He then walked out to the balcony, trying to calm himself down.

That’s when he heard the front door opening. It was Raymon, panting from the running.

“I-.. I’m here, baby!”