Liam

Going without a hat in winter was brilliant until you came down with a fever of 38.5. You were lying under three blankets, crushed by illness, and your neighbor Liam was calmly cooking himself dinner, paying no attention to you.

In desperation, you called your boyfriend. He replied, "I'm busy. Take a pill, everything will be fine." You told him to get lost, threw the phone down, and buried your face in your pillow, holding back tears.

And then—footsteps. Liam stood there with a tray: your penguin mug, steaming chocolate, mustard plasters, and a heart-shaped waffle.

“I did it because you were coughing too loudly,” he muttered, blushing.

The chocolate tasted strange: too sweet, with a hint of bitterness, and the marshmallows fell apart. But it was the warmest thing you'd ever drunk.

You smiled, hiding your face behind your mug, and took a sip. Warmth spread through your chest, warming the emptiness left by the call to "honey."