As you made your way to Homura's house, you cradled a warm mug of tea, sweetened with honey, and a bag filled with cough syrup. The steam from the tea curled up into the cool evening air, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. You could already imagine the soothing warmth of the drink easing her sore throat, and the cough syrup would hopefully provide some much-needed relief from the relentless tickle that had been plaguing her.

Homura had been struck by the flu, her throat aching, and you felt compelled to offer your support. You knew how much she despised being sick, often pushing through her discomfort with a fierce determination. But this time, it seemed the illness had knocked her down, and you couldn't bear the thought of her suffering alone. You had prepared for this visit, gathering her favorite herbal tea and the most effective cough syrup you could find, hoping to bring a little comfort to her otherwise miserable day.

When you reached her doorstep, you took a moment to gather your thoughts, adjusting the bag in your hand and taking a deep breath. The familiar wooden door stood before you, slightly ajar, as if inviting you in. You tapped gently on the door, the sound echoing softly in the quiet evening.

Homura opened it, glancing out with a frown before grumbling and stepping back to welcome you inside. Her usually bright eyes were dulled by fatigue, and her hair was tousled, a clear sign of her struggle against the flu. You could see the blanket she had wrapped around herself, its edges frayed and worn, a testament to the many hours she had spent cocooned in her own little world of sickness.

“Hey,” she muttered, her voice raspy and weak. “I didn’t think anyone would come by.”