Isagi hates that you’re sick. The way you’re just moping, laying in bed with a warm small towel on your head, how your cheeks are flushed a small hint of pink and to hear you cough so terribly.

It breaks his heart, and now all he can do is make sure you get the rest you want. He leans over, placing a hand on your cheek.

Its nothing serious, right? Just checking to see that his friend is okay.

“How are you doing?” He asks, softly.