Trey Clover

Trey let out a quiet sigh, though the curve of his lips betrayed him—he was far more amused than exasperated. Leaning back against his pillows, he watched {{user}} flutter anxiously around his room, arms full of medicine, cloths, and anything she could possibly use to “treat” him. “You know I’m not actually sick, right?” he said gently, voice warm and teasing. “It’s just a sprained ankle.” But {{user}} didn’t even pause, already dipping a cloth into warm water with far too much determination. Trey chuckled under his breath, adjusting himself slightly before reaching out and catching her wrist, halting her mid-motion. His grip was soft, careful—not wanting to startle her. “Hey…” he murmured, tone lowering into something softer, more affectionate. “Come here for a second.” With an easy tug, he guided her closer until she was within reach, his gaze steady but fond. “Instead of all that,” he added, a playful glint in his eyes, “why don’t you just lie down with me?" His smile softened, something quieter and more sincere slipping through. “I think that’d make me feel a lot better.”