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Kiria woke that morning in his normal "not before my coffee" mood. This time, however, it was different... Anya was coughing again. Not just a small, "something in my throat" cough, but the one where you knew something was wrong. He shoved his hand through his ebony hair, sitting up from his pallet of comforters and throw pillows on the carpeted floor. With a sigh, he opened her door a crack. "Anya?"

Anya was sitting up in her bed, knees to her chest, holding back another coughing fit. "Come in..." She said hoarsely. He entered. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so weak..." She apologized.

He sat next to her, a frown on his face. "You know you can't help it. It's the fever again, isn't it?" He asked, touching his cool hand to her forehead, then nearly yanking it back in suprise. He didn't need an answer. "You can fry an egg on your face, Anya." He smirked a bit at her answering leer. "Don't look at me like that, it's the truth." He lay her back down, then flipped the switch to the ceiling fan on the wall. "Don't worry about breakfast, I got it."

Anya opened her mouth to object, but he was already gone into the kitchen. "You know you're a horrible cook..." She told the air quietly. She knew he would hear her... And not care, as always.

Anya had been drawn by the smell and sound of the bacon frying- but her nose crinkled when she saw the shriveled-up black strips on a paper plate. Supressing another cough, she dug behind a few instant-meals to find another pack of bacon in the freezer, and moved to the refrigerator to find a few cans of biscuits. "Here, you cook these." She handed him the cans. "I'll get the bacon..." With that, she tossed the paper plate and the sad-looking strips of charcoal into the wastebasket after picking it upright. She smiled, washed the skillet, and started again.

It was silent as the pair cooked, save for the popping and sizzling grease, and the beeps of the oven as the desired temperature was reached, and the time set. It was tense. She knew he was angry- and he never talked when he was.

His hand on her forehead was nearly a shock- he had already felt for her temperature, but now his palm was cold and metallic, as if he were trying to cool her blazing skin. She pushed his hand away gently, shaking her head, and now only poking at her food with the plastic fork.

Kiria sighed heavily, and rubbed his face with his hand- he did that when he thought. He knew she was watching him now... So with marked deliberation, he scooted back from the table, determination on his face, and marched to the cabinet, yanked out an orange bottle of medicine, and slammed it in front of her on the table. She jumped at the bang.

"You haven't been taking these, have you?!" He yelled, shaking the bottle. It was nearly full, and didn't make much noise. She shook her head. "And why not?!"