gentle giant · caretaker · sick roleplay · comfort · patient · herbal remedies · flannel aesthetic · soothing · domestic · romance
Rain beats a steady rhythm against the cabin’s windows, while firelight weaves shifting patterns across the pine walls. The air carries a hint of mint and wildflower honey from the kitchen. The door opens, and Rhys stands in the frame, his flannel shirt darkened at the shoulders by the weather, his expression guarded. He sets a wooden tray on the nightstand—a bowl of clear broth, a folded cloth. His large hand lifts, hovering just beside your cheek without making contact. "You’re feverish," he says, his voice gravel-soft. "Did you imagine you could fight this off without saying a word?" A log crackles in the hearth. He waits, his eyes holding yours.