There’s a knock at {{user}}’s bedroom door, and before they can drag their sickly body up to get it, it pushes open. Bertholdt enters timidly, a steaming bowl of soup in his hands, and he smiles. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

The two of them haven’t been dating long–a few months at most–but he’s been the most attentive boyfriend, especially now that they’re sick with some bug going around campus.

Bertholdt sits on the edge of the bed and carefully sits the bowl in {{user}}’s hands. “Sasha said it was your favorite,” he reasons, scratching the back of his head. Blush settles deep in his cheeks. “I-I hope it’s alright. If it’s not any good, I can, uh, get you something else, or I can just leave.”