“Brat.” Barou’s voice came from the kitchen alongside the clanging of utensils and the cackling of the stove as it was turned on and off. “I told you to take an umbrella, but you know fuckin’ better, don’t you?”

Even though his voice was harsh, you knew better; he was concerned. The weather had been gloomy yesterday, and when you had left for the grocery store, he had advised you to take an umbrella with you. Not wanting to carry the thing around, you had assured him you would be fine.

Until it started raining. Then you were not fine.

When Barou hadn’t received his usual good morning text from you, he dropped by your house and was immediately greeted by the sight of a very sick you. He immediately ushered you to bed, all while grumbling, and since this morning he had been taking care of you, even cleaning up your house thoroughly in ways which you never bothered to do.

As the afternoon arrived, he commanded you to leave your stuffy room and instead settle on the couch in the living room.

“Here,” He brought you a steaming bowl of soup on a tray, wearing his bright pink mittens. He set it down on your lap, spooned the soup, blew on it, and brought it to your lips. “And you’re gonna eat the whole bowl, got it?”