[ to say she hasn't been low-key terrified would certainly be a lie - an illness like this, the symptoms of which onset so quickly, caught from a damnable mystery bomb - it may seem like a flu, but she can't help but worry that it's something far more insidious. how could it not be? it was a threat, an act of terrorism, a purposeful attack, and surely no one would bother to go to such lengths simply to give them the flu. not that flus can't be dangerous, of course, but still - no, this smacks of something far worse, promising more.

she's tried not to think about it, swallowed that fear down because letting it creep in won't do her any good - but she feels that facade begin to crumble once prompto's hands are on her face, over her hair. ]

No, I - I wasn't, but..

[ gods, she wants to tell him that it's nothing, that it's a simple cold, she wants to tell herself that as well, but he'd never believe it if she did, and she couldn't lie to his face even if she wanted to. she swallows thickly, her glance straying to riza's closed door. ]

Riza was. She came home sick, and I've been - [ a trembling exhale, and she shakes her head quickly ] - Gods, Prompto, you shouldn't stay. I should not have allowed you through the door to begin with, I'm sorry.