"Eat." he prompts, a spoon of warm broth brought up to your lips.

It's the middle of the winter, or more specifically, flu season, and of course someone at work had infected you.

So here you are, tucked into bed by your mother hen of a lover, Law, being spoonfed soup. It's not the best, and Law is no cook, but it's soothing and warm on your throat as it goes down.

He's taken the day off to take care of you, his favorite patient, as he calls you affectionately.

"I'm not taking the day off tomorrow, so you better work hard and get better by today," he huffs as you swallow down another spoonful, but he's lying. This man would take the day off the rest of the week, if need be.

And, though he'd never say outright, he liked being the one to care for you in such times.