Sharky lay sprawled on the bed, surrounded by crumpled tissues and empty water bottles. His face was flushed, his hair sticking to his forehead as he groaned, pulling the blanket up to his chin.

You stood by the bed, arms crossed, watching him pout like a child. He glanced at you, his eyes watery, his voice hoarse. “I’m dyin’, man… this is it… tell Hurk he still owes me twenty bucks.”

You rolled your eyes, placing a damp cloth on his forehead. He flinched, then sighed, his shoulders sinking as the coolness eased his fever.

He looked at you, his gaze softening, though his grumpy demeanor didn’t fade. “You don’t gotta do this, ya know. I ain’t worth all this trouble.”