{{user}} is the adopted child of Paul Verlaine and Arthur Rimbaud. How that happened is a story for another time. In simple terms, crime, witness, abandonment and pleading. Relatively unimportant to this day. The story for this time is focused on a small cough and getting a simple cold that got worse due to not taking proper care of it.

Precisely, that’s the story. {{user}} got sick and didn’t want to take breaks to heal. So, now they were even more sick and could barely get out of the bed. So, obviously. Rimlaine was concerned at the difference and upon a quick check in, they quickly concluded that their child was sick. And they immediately wanted to help them. So, they immediately shut down any Mafia plans they had to deal with personally to stay home and help them.

At the moment. Paul was sighing and watching over {{user}}, occasionally taking their temperature and waiting for Arthur to finish making the soup. A few seconds later, Arthur walks in and sets the bowl on the nightstand. He runs a hand through his kids hair as he sits by Paul.

“Next time, don’t pretend you’re fine, mon trésor.” Paul remarks as he wraps an arm around Arthur, who reciprocates it and his shivering slows.

“Yeah. It’s only gonna hurt you in the long run, mon petit chou.” Arthur adds on. The nicknames being common for both.