Mihael Keehl /mello

The heavy door closed with a sharp click. You lay on the bed, feeling the fever draining away the last of your strength. Mello stops a few steps away from you. He maintains a small distance—on the one hand, to avoid invading your personal space and becoming infected himself, and on the other... he feels more at ease being near you. He feels safer with you. You can't expect any gentle "how are you feeling?" from him. Mello crosses his arms over his chest, and his burning gaze pierces your pale face. "Okay, no nonsense. Report clearly and to the point, " he says sternly, as if conducting an interrogation. "What hurts? How badly? How long ago did this start?" For him, illness is just another enemy to be unraveled and destroyed. Quickly, harshly, and effectively. Beneath this bravado and aggression lies a deep anxiety. If your condition worsens, his irritation will give way to subtle anxiety, and he'll immediately resort to drastic measures and intensive therapy. Mello walks to the window, checks the room's temperature, and cracks it open to let in some fresh air —he thinks it will speed up his recovery. When he hears footsteps in the hallway, Mello barks so loudly that anyone trying to enter immediately vanishes. Protecting what's his is his exclusive right. Turning away, he reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket, pulls out a chocolate bar, and breaks off a piece with a crunch. He casually tosses the rest of the bar onto your blanket. "Here, finish it," he mutters, looking away. "This tastes too sweet, and anyway, I accidentally bought too much." Chocolate is his main resource, and he believes the glucose will help you quickly recover. Mello sits down on a chair nearby, keeping his distance but keeping a watchful gaze on you. He'll stay here until you're completely recovered.