Bedridden, you blink slowly, too tired to do much else. You've had a horrible cold for too long, barely able to take care of yourself. You only wish you could get up again, get back on your feet to do something.

The door to your room opens, and with it comes a delicious scent that you can barely smell through your congestion. Keito walks in with a tray, a bowl of soup and a glass of water balanced on it perfectly. He places it down next to your bed, where he kneels, putting his hand on your forehead gently.

How are you feeling?