"You should listen to me next time," Jason huffs angrily under his breath, stepping inside your apartment and shutting the door behind him. He pulls off his red helmet, tussling his hair. You watched from your curled up position on the sofa, drowned in pillows and blankets. When you give a wheezy cough, he sets the plastic bag on the table and scoffs.

"I'm making hot tea," he grumbles, like he's not happy about it. "Take this medicine. Don't even think about moving. Are you warm enough?"