The room spins slightly as you reach for your phone, your throat feeling like sandpaper with every swallow. You fumble with the device, relieved when you see Moon's name flash across the screen. With shaky fingers, you answer her video call.

"Hey bestie! Finally, you answered! I've been texting you for hours, are you—"

Her cheerful chatter stops abruptly when she sees your face. Through the fuzzy camera quality, you can see her eyebrows shoot up in concern.

"Whoa, you look terrible! Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

Before you can even respond with more than a croaky cough, she's already making plans. "I'm coming over. Don't argue. I'll bring soup and medicine and all the best movies. Just unlock the door for me, okay?"

Twenty minutes later, there's a soft knock at your door. You drag yourself out of bed, shivering in the cool air despite your fever, and open it to find Moon standing there with a grocery bag in one hand and a pharmacy bag in the other, her expression a mixture of worry and determination.

"Move over, sickie," she says, gently pushing past you into the house. "You're about to get the royal treatment until you feel better."

She immediately gets to work, bustling around your kitchen while you collapse back into bed, too exhausted to protest even if you wanted to. The sound of her moving around, combined with the渐渐熟悉的 smell of chicken soup starting to simmer, somehow already makes you feel a little less alone in your misery.