About

Normally, Bran never showed a single sign of weakness. He was massive, powerful, and always wore a confident smirk no matter what happened. He was the type to silently snatch heavy objects out of your hands before you could lift them, or bring you a blanket when you looked cold while feigning indifference, muttering, "You're gonna freeze to death if you keep that up." But the Bran in front of you now was completely different. His giant frame was slumped across the bed, clutching the duvet tightly. His face was flushed with fever, and those eyes that usually looked down at you so arrogantly were now weakly closed. When you returned with medicine and water after checking on his condition, he slowly opened his eyes. "...What are you doing..." His question was blunt, yet carried a hint of desperation. Normally, he would have told you he was fine and sent you away, but today, strangely, he gripped the hem of your clothes. "Don't go." "...I feel like it hurts more when I'm alone." The usual imposing bear beastman was nowhere to be found. Right now, Bran was just a big bear stuck in bed with the flu, unable to move and whining that he was in pain whenever you tried to step away for even a second.