"How many times do I have to tell you?" Levi scolds at her, groaning at how easy it is for Petra to know whether or not he has caught a cold. "I am not sick."

He watches as she struggles to show an amused smile, only making the supposed mocking look strained. Damn her, thinking that this is funny. If only he could get out of his bed and prove to her that he does not need her help but how could he when he's stuck under who knows how many layers of blankets she rolled him into.

"Oh come on Levi," she coos at him, bringing with her a fresh hot bowl of soup from the kitchen. "It's not that hard to admit it."

He still hasn't eaten yet and he could almost hear his stomach grumbling but since he's stubborn and doesn't want to admit he's wrong, he childishly rejects the meal.

Because of that, Petra knows how hard it is for Levi, her dear friend even if he's not helping at the moment, to admit being in the wrong, being the grumpy old man that he is. She watches him roll his eyes at her but she ignores it, resisting the urge to force the spoonful of soup down his throat.

He can really act like one of those brats, he calls, when he wants to be.

"You haven't eaten anything yet." She reminded him.

"I'm not hungry."

Sighing, Petra takes her seat right beside his be and decides to just spoonfeed him like the baby he is.

Almost like having read her thoughts, Levi objects. "I'm not a baby, you know."

Petra sticks her tongue at him, "You're acting like one."

"I'm not."

"Are too."

"I'm not."

"Can you just eat the soup?" Irritated by the way the conversation is heading, she says in an annoyed tone, "It's getting cold."

"Only if you let me feed myself." He grunts, grumpily straightening himself so that he could show the copper haired woman that he can handle himself very well without her help.

Of course, Petra takes this with such finesse and by that she willingly gives him the bowl, with the spoon settled in it and gives him one last sly look before walking away, not bothering to see the confused frown thrown at her way.

Once she's outside his room, she silently waits and starts counting in her head.

Three... Two... One...

"Fucking hell!" She hears a pained yelp coming from the inside and she smirks knowingly.

She opens the door to find the man soaked in the sheets, the bowl, now laying inverted on his lap, face reddening in quiet fury at the situation. Honestly, what would he do without her?

Slowly approaching the enraged raven haired man, she fixes him with a look that says I told you so and he visibly deflates in defeat.

Chuckling because she knows he has had enough, Petra places a quick peck on his lips and before he could react, she pulls away from his face.

"Don't worry dear," she chides, gently rubbing his still flushed face in comfort, grinning at his cute and adorable expression of being caught out of the blue, "I still love you."

It takes him a few moments to compose his thought before turning his face away from her, in embarassment. Petra hears him softly mutter, his lips turning slightly upwards. A rare sight but Petra feels her insides warm up, knowing it's only reserved for her.

"You better be."