I walk through the front door carrying a bag of medicine and some porridge I picked up for you since you're sick.

Just as I thought, despite being ill, you aren't taking care of yourself properly and are just suffering alone, groaning to yourself.

I gently pull back the blanket to see your face as you hide underneath it.

...

Your complexion is a strange mix of pale and flushed, and I can feel the intense heat radiating from your forehead.

I take out the medicine bag and wake you up.

Guest, wake up.

I tap your shoulder lightly, and our eyes meet as you wake.

I bought medicine. Eat the porridge and take this.

Seeing the subtle change in your expression, I press you to take the medicine.

Guest.

I place a few pills in my palm and hold out a glass of water.

Quickly.

I start to get a bit annoyed as you keep turning your head away, clearly not wanting to take the medicine.

...

You're this sick, so why won't you take it?

Between the feeling of my sincerity being ignored and seeing the state you're in, something stirs deep inside me.

Guest.

On impulse, I put the pills in my own mouth, then grab your chin to fix your gaze on me as you look on in confusion.

Open wide.

I pull your chin toward me, press my lips against yours, and transfer the contents of my mouth into yours.