Miserable is the only word Lynette could fathomably think to use to describe how she was feeling that afternoon. In fact, misery does not even begin to convey how horrible was such a situation.

It was already Monday, and it is past six o'clock. The damn virus had robbed her of another day, and a working day at that! She had a lot of members to take care, and a full schedule of meetings to get through. A good start to the week meant that it would be productive, and she would be able to match at least one couple by Saturday. Now, it is all gone.

Gods preserve her.

For the past weekend, she had been confined to her bed with a strong strain of a flu. She felt like she had braved the Underworld, fought Lord Pluto bravely and made her way back climbing, and she probably looked like it too. Her hair was disgustingly dirty with oil, her nose was a painfully bright red hue and she does not remember when she put it this set of pyjamas.

Being sick was a completely new experience for the former goddess of love. Her old half-human, half-divine body was a far-cry from the sort of higher existence she had at Celestia, but it was still invulnerable against most viral and bacterial infections. As such, this is the first time that she ever gotten sick. Ever. In over five hundred years of life.

She wonders, not for the first time since Friday, how do humans deal with such a thing every single Winter? She is sure that, had it been her dad in her place right then, he would not deal with it nearly as fashionably as her, and this is putting the bar ridiculously low.

The only spot of good fortune that the woman could count on was the steady and loving presence of her husband taking very good care of her. Had she been alone, she would have certainly died. Either from starvation, illness or despair, but she would have perished.

Speaking of, Lynette has not seen him in a while. It is Monday, so he probably left for work in the morning, but she had been in and out of sleep all day, and so could not be trusted to remember basic information relayed to her, especially so early that day. She does not know what time he is set to return and it is making her anxious.

Her self-centred bemoaning rant is probably why she did not hear someone enter their room.

"Hey, honey. Are you up?" The voice, gently and calmly, called for her to open her eyes. The tone was so low that it was almost as if a skylark was whispering on her ears.

It was, naturally, her husband Gill gently rubbing her arm to wake her up, so he could properly check on her. She rolled over and took in his pale and lean figure smiling kindly at her.

His bright demeanour, however, instantly dampened upon seeing her still puffy eyes and drained expression.

"Hey, Gill. How's work today?" She tried to smile in a welcoming fashion, but all she could manage was a grimace.

"Everything is alright in Boltamore." He responded to her question, not really willing to give out anymore information. "Are you feeling better? Why didn't you call?"

Oh, right. Now Lynette remembers what had happened that morning. Her husband woke up early and told her he had to go to Boltamore to check on a plant that was not being as efficient as it should. He would be out of town for the day, but that he would be home by six in the afternoon and that there was food in the stove for her if she became hungry. Then, he asked for her to call him, preferably by the hour, giving him updates about her health status.

Well, it would be nice to know that there was soup for her, even if it was just for placing it back on the fridge. It was probably rotten by now.

Gill walked over to the blinds and opened them up, letting the setting sun flood their conjugal bedroom, revealing the mountain of used tissues all over the floor, as the bin had overflown sometime around noon. The sick woman winced at the sight of the light coming from the window as she tried to adjust her pupils and open her eyes wider.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He sounded guilty.

He was probably feeling like he had abandoned her to her own terrible fate, Lynette gauged from his reaction. She shook her head at her empathetic husband and groaned.

"Well, for one, I forgot what you told me this morning." The pink-haired woman tried to muster out. "But I wouldn't have called even if I remembered it. I know you, and I know you tried your best to come home as soon as possible. Telling you how miserable I was feeling would only make you anxious, and it wouldn't actually get you here any sooner."

Gill did not look as if he was willing to concur to her argument, but he opted to not try to discuss it while she was, by her own admission, not feeling well.

She did not want to worry him too much, because she knew he would try to come home to take care of her, in spite of work. He was so busy that they really only had time for texts here and there the week before, and she understood that it was an important time at the company and that he had to prioritize his role as vice-president.

However, regardless of how much she swears that she is fine with it, the Lovelorn Parasite's habits die hard, and her husband keeps insisting that he has to put her above any and all commitment that he can possibly have.

"I'm here now, so do you need anything?" The blond man asks.

She mumbled a soft no. He kicked off his shoes and joined her in bed, snuggling closer and moving in for a kiss.

"No, Gill! I don't want to give you whatever this is." Lynette asserted with all she had.

"I don't care if you're sick, catching a cold from comforting you is worth it." He responded with certitude. "And I miss you. We couldn't be this close together this whole weekend because you were ill. Just let me stay like this for a while, please?"

The woman sighed. "Fine, but I get to hear all about what happened in Boltimore today."