Your head shot up from the files spread out on your bed, spotting your best friend, Jake, peeking his head round your doorframe.

"Jeez, you look a mess." He teases, pointing out your messy hair and eyebags; the flu was not flattering, it seemed. Noticing your clear confusion on how he got in your house, he points to the key in his hand.

"Spare key under your plant- duh." He grins. "Holt told me you called in sick, figured I'd check on you-" He starts, before noticing the case files and your obvious state.

"Are you working? Come on, Ash, you should be resting!" He frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.