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Shadow immediately settles along the curve of Valencia, who reaches out and scratches the top of the cat’s head.

“I know, I know. You’re morally opposed to broth or whatever.”

Valencia grunts before tugging a tissue out of the box on her nightstand and pointedly blowing her nose.

“Well, consider this,” Heather says. “If you don’t try this soup that I made from scratch, I will cry.”

Valencia flips her hair back from her face so she can properly glare. The effect is a bit diminished by her chapped red nose and bloodshot eyes. In fact, she looks full-on pitiful—not that Heather’s gonna tell her that.

“I can’t taste anything anyway,” Valencia argues, her voice thick and nasal. Shadow stretches out her front paws until they rest in Valencia’s upturned palm, just shy of the tissue she’s still holding.

“Perfect,” Heather says. “Sit up.”

Valencia groans again. “No.”

“Babe, come on.” Heather fixes a stern expression on to her face. “You’re never gonna get better if you don’t eat and hydrate.”

“But my throat hurts.”

“Yeah, because you also refuse to take the Dayquil I got for you.”

“Swallowing is too hard.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Heather says, setting the tray down a little harsher than is advisable on their dresser. She crawls onto the bed over Valencia, jostling the cat out of its place.

“Hey!” Valencia protests.

“You’re Valencia freaking Perez!” Heather yells. “And you’re letting a stupid little cold keep you in bed when there’s shit to be done!”

“I don’t feel good,” Valencia says, pouting out her lower lip. The miserable expression almost breaks Heather’s resolve.

She shakes her head and continues. “It’s time to stop spiraling. You know what you need to do to feel better.”

Valencia’s pout turns into a disgusted frown.

“Come on,” Heather says, gently goading. “Let me take care of you.”

After a beat, Valencia rolls her eyes. “Ugh, fine.”

Heather’s already crawling off the bed to retrieve the tray. “That’s the spirit.”

When she turns back around, she finds that Valencia’s propped herself up on their mass of pillows. Heather smiles at her as she sets the tray in her lap.

“The flowers are a nice touch,” Valencia says, begrudgingly picking up the spoon.

“I know,” Heather says.

After a few spoonfuls of soup and a gulp of water, Valencia adds a meek, “Thank you.”

Heather kisses the top of her head and then bends over to scoop Shadow into her arms. “You’re a real pain in the ass when you’re sick, you know that?”

Valencia shrugs, but a grin tugs up the corners of her mouth.