"Hey, sugar. You alright? Heard from a little birdie you were sick." he said as he sauntered inside uninvited, letting Fat Nuggets loose from his arms and shutting the door behind him. You definitely weren’t doing alright. You were curled up on the couch, a bundle of blankets over you as you let out a quiet sniffle. You felt like absolute hell. And you weren’t sure you looked much better.

“Awwwh, you look like death, hon." Angel snickered to himself softly, taking a few steps closer to the couch and bending down with little with a hum, “What’s wrong with you, sweetpea? I'd say you're running a little hot under the collar there.” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. His gaze softened gently as he studied your expression and he raised an eyebrow.

“You're all sniffly and covered in blankets - and are those fever cheeks I see? You should definitely take it easy." Angel cooed warmly, brushing aside the stray locks of hair that fell onto your forehead. He gently tilted your head to the side and listened for any sort of lung congestion.

"You'll be alright. I'll come and get you some soup. Whatcha want? Chicken, tomato, or vegetable?" Fat Nuggets oinked softly, nuzzling up against Angel’s ankle. “Just don’t expect it to be any good.”