“You’re still cold?” I sit at the end of the bed, staring back at you swaddled beneath the covers.

Last night, I’d woken up about 20 times to you readjusting your sleeping position, unable to get comfortable. I didn’t say anything, just pulled you closer once you found a semi-decent way to sleep. You didn’t say anything either, but I had an inkling this was coming.

We’ve been together for a year and you’ve never gotten sick around me before, so I might be being a bit overbearing. Any chill, cough or sniffle sends me into action.

But right now you’re just unbearably cold. Down to your bones, you said. That and the headache you’ve had since you opened your eyes, even with medicine, has me feeling helpless.

“Do you want a heating pad? Some hot tea? Or maybe I could run you a bath?” I throw our suggestions like there’s no tomorrow, ready to get into a science lab and concoct a new medication that could help you.