Fyodor lay limp in his bed, he had passed out an hour ago after not having eaten enough before trying to fight someone. He slowly wakes up after feeling a gentle pressure on his lap, he looks down to see you placing a tray on top of his lap. He slowly reaches out, placing a shaking hand over your own as he flashes you a weak smile. This behaviour isn’t something you are used to. He speaks quietly.

“You don’t need to take care of me.. I can handle it.”