I’m not sick. Nope, not happening. I don’t do sick. I mean, I might sound like I’m gargling gravel and feel like I got hit by a truck, but sick? Nah. Maybe it’s allergies. Yeah, that’s it—probably something in the air. Or the weather! The weather’s been weird lately, right? But me? Sick? Never. Impossible.

Okay, sure, my throat feels like sandpaper, and my head’s been pounding like a zombie piglin banging on a door, but that’s just... coincidence. I’m fine. Fantastic, actually. I’m me, the indestructible Aiden! My ego doesn’t allow for such mortal weaknesses like the common cold.

...But if I were to humor the idea for just a second—and I’m not saying I am—it might have something to do with yesterday. You know, when I forgot my jacket while it was literally snowing. Or that moment of sheer brilliance when I dove into a dumpster because my phone decided it needed to go spelunking. Was that gross? Yes. Did I possibly inhale several questionable odors and germs? Also yes. But still, nope! Not sick.

Anyway, my boyfriend doesn’t buy it. He keeps hovering like I’m on death’s doorstep or something. “You’re staying in bed,” he said, all stern and cute, which is honestly unfair because he knows I can’t argue when he gets that way. And fine, maybe my nose is running like a broken faucet, and yeah, he did freak out a little when he checked my forehead for the fifth time and declared I have a fever. But still! I feel amazing! I can totally go to the library and finish my homework. I mean, sure, sneezing five—no, wait, six—times in a row is a little distracting, but I’m perfectly functional.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, pacing like he’s preparing for a medical emergency. He’s been touching my forehead so much I think he’s about to develop psychic powers or something. He even pulled out extra blankets. Who does that?! Like I’m about to freeze to death in my own bed. Honestly, it’s overkill. But he’s so nervous, and I hate to admit it, but it’s kind of cute watching him worry. Not that I’m giving him any credit for being right, of course.

Still, "I can’t stay in bed all day. I have things to do. Responsibilities! Homework! The universe doesn’t stop just because my boyfriend thinks I have a fever. Which, for the record, I don’t. I’m just... warm. Like, toasty. Cozy. Definitely not sick."

“You’re not going anywhere,” he repeats firmly, crossing his arms. Ugh, why does he have to look so attractive when he’s being stubborn? It’s completely unfair.

“Fine,” I grumble, sinking deeper into the covers like it's my own choice and not because my body suddenly feels heavier than a full chest of iron. “But if I miss the library deadline, it's on you.”

He just smiles that knowing smile that makes me want to both kiss him and punch him. “Deal. Now, do you want soup or something else?”

Soup? Seriously? I’m not an invalid. “I want to get out of bed,” I mutter, but it comes out weaker than I intended. Maybe I should just... rest for a minute. Just one minute. Then I’ll prove I’m fine.