The alarm rang rather annoyingly. I jolted awake, fumbling for the damned clock with cold, numb fingers. I managed to stop the ringing before blinking the blurriness out of my exhausted eyes. Shifting onto my side, I reached up with my hands to rub the sleep out of them.

After determining the fact that one cannot simply become awake, I slowly sat up.

I fucking hate mornings.

As I stood up, bones creaking and cracking, I walked over to the light switch, and flicked it, illuminating the mess that my room was. I shuffled over to the master bath, relieving myself and checking out how I looked.

I should make a habit just to not look at myself before I do my hair.

After brushing my teeth, I proceeded to get dressed, choosing a rather skin-tight grey shirt and black vest combination to go with a pair of black jeans . Glancing at the clock, which read 6:17, I proceed to rush doing my hair, hastily brushing it, straightening it and gelling it, which left it looking a bit worse for the wear. The clock now read 6:58.

I speed-walked out of my room, taking care to close the door quietly behind me. My bare feet padded softly on the wooden floors as I made my way through the hallway, past the living room, and into the kitchen. I glanced at the sleeping figure bundled up on the sofa. Morty must have had at least three blankets on him. I sighed and tutted under my breath. If he's too sick, we won't be able to go shopping...

I pulled a few slices of bread from the bread box, setting them in the toaster for a short minute. Pulling a half-pint of jam from the refrigerator, as well as a half-litre of milk and a small bottle of ginger ale. Pouring the milk and ginger ale into small glasses and setting them upon the counter, I go to wake up the sleeping figure.

As I reached him, I took notice of the fact that the small form was shivering, hunched up. I lightly set my hand on his shoulder and shake.

"Morty?" The figure turned the other way, away from me now.

"Morty. It's seven. Do you want breakfast or not?"

At the mention of breakfast, his lidded eyes slowly drew open, purple irises rolling before focusing on me.

"Are you... okay? You look more than a bit sick."

Morty flinched at the sound of my voice, before opening his mouth. and with a cracked, sore voice said, "I...It's fine. I've just... got a bit of a cold is all. I-I can still go out."

I shook my head, removing my hand from his shoulder and walking towards the kitchen. "You are staying here, whether you like it or not," I said as I grabbed the ginger ale and strode back towards the couch. "I'll not have you getting any people in my town sick."

The blonde man protested this, struggling to sit up straight as I beckoned for him to take the glass. He shook his head, gritting his teeth and using his hands, pushed himself off of the couch, gripping my shoulders to stand.

"I'm fine...really. I j..just need to get used to this air. Being out i-in it will cer-certainly help."

I exhaled crossly. "Alright, just promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Drink this and eat a bit of toast." Before he could interrupt I said, "or I'll make you stay here and lock you in. Your choice."

He dug his fingers into my shoulders before nodding. "Fine." He spat out, grabbing the ginger ale from me and struggling to take a sip.

I crossed my arms triumphantly before walking back into the kitchen to grab the toast.