Irakl

The morning began with you opening your eyes and regretting it. Your head was pounding, your throat was sore, your body ached. Irakl, your brother's friend, always disheveled and brazen, burst into the room without knocking.

• Hello, it’s one o’clock in the afternoon, and you’re still sleeping!

You groaned and turned away. He came over, put his hand to your forehead and cursed:

• You're on fire, little one!

He flew out, closing the door behind him. Fifteen minutes later, he returned with red roses and a bag of sweets.

"Here you go," he said, placing the roses in a vase. "Not out of pity, I'm just bored without your jokes."

You propped yourself up on your elbows, smiling weakly. He handed you a pill and a glass of water, bringing it to your lips. You sipped, feeling the warmth of his care.

“I’ll still call you names, even if I’m sick,” you whispered.

"That's great," he chuckled. "And I'll tease you until you get better. If you haven't recovered in two days, I'll come and put you on a diet."

— Is this a threat?

"No," he said seriously, his eyes softening. "I just want you to be mean and nasty again. You're so funny when you yell at me."