You have spent three days curled up in your bed with a temperature so bad that Arlecchino almost considered taking you to Dottore to sort it out, but you were more than happy to wait it out instead.

Those three days had been spent swiftly losing any food you tried to eat and barely keeping down the water you forced yourself to drink so that you wouldn't get dehydrated with how much the heat made you sweat.

Now that days have passed, your throat hurts, and you curse your gag reflex. You don't even want to drink water, and the dizziness that prevents you from getting up has hardly subsided. You've slept through most of it, yet you can't bear to spend another minute glued to your bed, tossing and turning amidst your covers. They're thoroughly a mess, no thanks to hours of indecision as you become hot under them and cold without them for too long.

It's a frustrating thing to be confronted with your weakness.

There is truly nothing worse. This time last week, you would've been by your lovely Arlecchino's side, helping her with her work as she managed the less enjoyable affairs for the House of Hearth. It's always nice to have someone with you to curb your boredom when you have to do menial work.

But since you woke up in the middle of the night overwhelmed by dizziness so horrible you couldn't figure out which way was left, you have been stuck here where you cannot reach her for much of the day. She insisted she should remain with you, but you weren't eager to take up more of her precious time for no reason other than your conscience. You know she would be happy to. You just don't want to trouble her.

While she's gone, you should remember to do the things she made you promise to do: get lots of rest, drink water, don't push yourself.

By what is basically the force of fate, you have been good at resting and not pushing yourself. It's the water you're struggling with. You tried to force yourself to half something earlier, using whatever surface was available to support yourself, but you found yourself with an upset stomach and an awful lingering feeling in your throat.

Your second trip to the kitchen for a glass of water is equally unsuccessful.

She asked only three things of you, and even that is out of your depth? You must be pathetic. Soon, Arlecchino will return home, and she will see the glaring problem that you're dehydrated and be disappointed that you couldn't even listen to her requests.

The floor is the most comfortable spot to sit or kneel awkwardly on your hands and knees after quickly lowering yourself to the floor when you are hit with a dizzy spell to avoid hitting it at a high speed once you inevitably fall over.

Is sickness making you a wreck? Were you always this quick to give up? You never feel this uneasy. Your fever must be messing with your head and making you overemotional, but you feel so useless, whatever the reason. Suddenly you understand those people forced to retire from their work only to become restless and idle all day from an overwhelming absence in their life, if only for a few days.

It hurts, mentally mostly, but the physical pain of it all is hardly helping. Something about fevers is so draining to your body.

Water. You'd just like to drink some water. Is that too much to ask? Surely not.

Water...on the floor underneath you. It's only a drop, but you never even made it to the fridge. Where could it have come from? You place your finger on it, confirming it is most definitely not a product of your fever-driven imagination as it feels very real. Another drop lands on the back of your hand, then on the floor in quick succession, too quick for anything like a hole in the ceiling. Holes in the ceiling can't pass water through your head, either.

Tears? You're not crying-- you reach up to feel your cheek. Oh, you are. You are crying.

When did that happen? You never cry, not in good health anyway. It's completely unlike you. Though not in good health, maybe it's not so unthinkable. Maybe you are weak like this, even mentally. You didn't think a little sickness could bring you down very much; evidently, you were wrong.

You first settle back on your kneels, wiping your eyes clean of the tears that started and won't stop coming, especially now that you realise it. Like a wound that doesn't hurt until you look at it and realise how bad it looks, it hits you all at once that you really are quite miserable in this state. Water is too hard for you to get. Really? Is that how far you've fallen?

This powerless feeling is horrible, like a weakness eating at your bones every moment you spend sick. Conclusively, you really hate being sick.

You must not have noticed the sound of the door opening, possibly because you were distracted by your condition and its inhibition of your simple desire to drink a glass of water so that you could tell Arlecchino that you did it. Maybe that was supposed to prove to her you were getting better or something. You obviously weren't, but it feels nice to lie to yourself sometimes and try to convince yourself that you won't be bearing with this sickness for very long.

On the other hand, you certainly do notice the footsteps encroaching on you and your pathetic state. It doesn't matter who's there. You don't want anyone to see you this way. Not Arlecchino and not any fatuu she may have sent to check on you. Not that you're on the floor, and most definitely not that the reason you're down there is because you're crying. It would be too shameful to handle ever publicly showing your face again. You scramble to try and get back on your feet and wipe your tears, but it only proves your weakness to you as you get up so fast you make yourself dizzy again and stumble to find something to hold onto before you fall again.

The only reason you don't end up flat on your ass is because Arlecchino grabs you by your shoulders and holds you close, so close you feel her poor jacket soak up your tears. You want to pull away so you don't wet her clothes, but you can't. She is your only anchor right now. If you do that, she'll really know you're crying. Of course, she is already aware that you are, but if you at least stay with your face buried in the fur of her overcoat, you don't have to acknowledge that she knows.

Evidently, bed is the best place for you right now, and you are promptly returned there so that you can lay back and rest.

"I didn't even realise I was crying, swear!" Your attempts to save yourself are pointless, as she never cared whether you were crying or not in the first place. It's natural to cry, even if she doesn't want to see you upset.

"It's alright. Covers on or off?" There is a certain gentleness in her voice that makes you look away in embarrassment, though it is undeniably attractive that a hot woman would take care of you while you're sick. The 'in health' part is really sexy too, but the sickness part stirs butterflies in your stomach...

"Off," you respond.

It's even hotter you get to be married to that woman.

She places a kiss on your forehead, as gentle as the rest of her actions, a degree of care present that she does not usually impart. She is not heartless and cold toward you, but this side of her is a rare one reserved for the moments when you feel especially precious. Sickness, injury...

It is a rarity that you treasure because it means a lot to you.

"I just got overwhelmed I guess." You can't think of a way to explain it to her that actually makes some degree of sense. Any explanation you think of sounds stupid to your brain and probably hers. "I'm fine, I promise."

"I know, I know. Glass of water, and something to eat small enough it won't upset your stomach." Her thumb brushing over your forehead is enough to settle those rampant emotions of yours, though still teary-eyed and moody.

"Just give me a second and I can do it." Again with your insistence to not be helped, you're just spouting off lies at this point, fooling yourself but not her.

She laughs at your stubbornness. "No you can't." She says that so matter-of-factly you can't even be bothered to fight as the words die in your throat at how amused she seems. It's one of your endearing traits, you like to think. The slight smile she walks off with would certainly support that delusion.

You're probably fooling yourself about that part too, but something about her collectedness while your brain is all scrambled up and chaotic calms you, and you fish around the bed for the coat she had discarded and laid out at your feet before she left. It's nice and heavy but not too warm when laid across you so haphazardly that it overheats you. The fur around the collar is uncomfortably wet in one spot.

However could that have happened? Sure hope someone didn't get their tears all over it.

What's best is that it smells like her, covered in her scent from top to bottom, and now you are too. It's like getting a warm hug from your wife in the absence of a hug or your wife

Ok maybe it's impossible to marry you and not know that you're really stubborn when you want to be.

"I'll stay with you like this for the entire week if that's what you want. I don't mind if I catch whatever you managed to get." Her words are so sweet that you get those butterflies again. Could you really handle a week with her like this? Probably not. You might just drop dead, but if nothing else, you'd be dying happy.

"I would definitely mind that." You laugh back, trying to match her responses and diffuse the idea you might want her gone.

"What? Don't want to take care of me?" She's just teasing, but her expression doesn't give that away at a glance.

"Didn't say that!"

You can't help feeling happy. You like this as your medicine a lot, and it has nothing to do with your face being this close to her chest and everything to do with her warmth and her words like everything is normal, and you're both just messing around. If that were the truth, it might be really nice too, but it makes being sick a hell of a lot more enjoyable.

It can't be more than a minute or two before she returns with a glass of water and some dry biscuits. The only two things that you can keep down seem like heaven in her hands despite how bland both of them are. It feels nice to finally be hydrated, and it feels great to have something in your stomach aside from an empty feeling.

Arlecchino takes the time as an opportunity to settle into bed beside you.

As you set the glass of water down on the floor beside your bed, you turn back over to squirm your way into her waiting arms, now receiving a warm hug from your wife in the presence of both a hug and your wife.

You are comfortable with a bit of pillow shifting, some wriggling into place and a slight repositioning of your head. You are not smothered by her and can breathe while remaining in her arms. Your head is not in a position where your neck hurts, and your legs are comfortably intertwined with hers. Dreams do come true, and on that note, you won't be moving from this position for the next few hours if you can help it.

"You can keep the coat if you want. I'll wash it once you're better." Her voice is low, trying not to be too loud when you are so close but audible.

You would shake your head but don't dare, only mumbling back to her. "You need it for work tomorrow."

"I'll take a day off." She says it so off-handedly it sounds suspiciously normal for a moment before the shock of it hits you.

Your eyes open, and you tilt your head up just enough to see her face, completely serious. "Are you sure? You'll have a lot to do--"

She makes a face like she is thinking, though it is an act to emphasise what she says next. "I'll use it to manage files from the House of Hearth if it would make you feel better about getting to steal all my attention at home."

"Accepted." Evidently, you are far too easy to bargain with.

She laughs to herself nonetheless, hand stroking your back. "I don't want to leave for work only to come home to you crying again."

You go dead silent and look away again. "...Sorry."

"I didn't mean it in that way." She tries to reassure you with those words, and it works a little but doesn't take away from your embarrassment. Are you going to remember that for the next five years wondering if she's judging you for it knowing damn well she's not and probably doesn't remember it? Hopefully not. "It worried me, that's all. I want to be here if you need me."

Ok maybe that's really hot too.

"Well, if you're sure, then I'm not going to tell you no." You wouldn't stop her anyway because, secretly, you would really like for her to stay with you. You wanted that from the start and just couldn't swallow your pride to admit it.

The small chuckle she lets out hearing that tells you that she is very aware of that fact. Maybe it's hard to marry you and not know that.

Ok maybe it's impossible to marry you and not know that you're really stubborn when you want to be.

"I'll stay with you like this for the entire week if that's what you want. I don't mind if I catch whatever you managed to get." Her words are so sweet that you get those butterflies again. Could you really handle a week with her like this? Probably not. You might just drop dead, but if nothing else, you'd be dying happy.

"I would definitely mind that." You laugh back, trying to match her responses and diffuse the idea you might want her gone.

"What? Don't want to take care of me?" She's just teasing, but her expression doesn't give that away at a glance.

"Didn't say that!"

You can't help feeling happy. You like this as your medicine a lot, and it has nothing to do with your face being this close to her chest and everything to do with her warmth and her words like everything is normal, and you're both just messing around. If that were the truth, it might be really nice too, but it makes being sick a hell of a lot more enjoyable.