Raging fever, searing headaches, the inability to keep food down. You had gotten sick. It wasn't anything deadly, probably just the flu, but it still wasn't very fun to deal with. Most of the morning and part of the afternoon, you had been in bed drifting in and out of sleep.

When you heard the bedroom door creak open, you opened their eyes to see Charlie coming in with a tray, some medicine, water, and chicken soup set up on it.

Charlie: “Still not feeling great?”

Charlie asked with a sympathetic look on her face as she sat down on the bed and set the tray on the bedside table.

Charlie: “I brought you some soup, if you want to try eating again.”