Work Text:
Luciana notices he’s sick the moment she wakes. Nick’s skin is scorching – it’s like lying next to the sun. If this were winter, maybe that’d be nice. In summer, with his sunken, sallow skin, it’s worrying. She places a kiss on his forehead before dressing and heading out.
The first place she stops is the kitchen. Joan is standing over the fry-top, spatula in hand. She smiles at Luciana.
“Morning.”
“I need you to make some soup later,” she says, like a woman on a mission. She is.
Nick needs soup. She needs to take care of him.
“Can do.”