x | Peter stared at him, clearly unimpressed. How he recalled the time when he was ill, he’d be joyous about not attending school – like a kid during Christmas Day. Some adults he’ve met had it backwards. Shaking his head in slight exasperation, he left Bruce to his own devices and headed to the kitchen to whip up something worthwhile. ❝I guess I’ll make for him something then.❞
It wasn't completely Bruce's fault. He had a heavy work load all this week, and the bug caught him at the worst time. the fever chills went up and down his spine and he shivered at the feeling. He licked at his chapped dry lips, and rubbed at the dull ache in the back of his head. His throat felt ready to burn up into a crisp. Half asleep, half feeling on the brink of death, he gave in and slowly pulled his head up, shutting down his programs for the day. The bird flu was awful, just the worst.
"Peter... Peter, make some hot soup, please."
He called out weakly, grabbing his lab coat and wrapping it around himself for some warmth.
