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Summary
Shadow Milk winced. He considered pretending he wasn’t home, but another cough rattled through him, giving him away.
“…Go away,” he rasped.
“You’re sick,” Pure Vanilla said, not as an accusation, but with quiet concern.
Shadow Milk squeezed his eyes shut. “…I’m fine,” he croaked.
“You sound anything but fine,” Pure Vanilla replied. There was a pause, then the door clicked open — he must have convinced the dorm monitor to let him in.
Pure Vanilla stepped in, carrying a small paper bag. His eyes widened at the sight of Shadow Milk’s pale face and the blanket wrapped around him.
Shadow Milk groaned, muffling his voice into the pillow. “…Go away. I’m gross.”
Pure Vanilla set the bag down and pulled a chair to the bedside. “Everyone gets sick. It’s not gross, it’s human.”
He pulled out a thermos and placed it on the desk. “I brought you soup.”
Or
Shadow Milk wakes up sick in his dorm and Pure Vanilla takes care of him.