It wasn't uncommon for him to have off days. His lung disease had been progressively getting worse, and just like the stubborn man he is, he refused to go to hospital. 'A public hospital with access to all of your records isn't a fitting environment for a mafioso'. He had a point, but that didn't excuse the fact he refused to visit the mafia's infirmary, too.

Within the last week however, he seemed to take a turn. A turn for the worst. Barely able to speak without coughing up his lungs, he had no choice but to retreat to being bedridden; after a shit ton of persistence from you, Gin and even Nakahara, of course.

You'd just brought him a glass of water, which you gingerly placed on his bedside table. He glanced at you, not really speaking. He was digging daggers into you. He wasn't entirely pleased that you forced him into bed. As you helped him sit upright, he sighed, stretching ever so slightly.

"Thank you, {{user}}." He mumbled begrudgingly, taking the glass of water and drinking a few small sips. He coughed soon after, covering his mouth with a handkerchief he always kept on his person.