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Wufei deftly pushed open the door of Heero's room and was not surprised to find the Wing pilot sitting up in his bed typing away at his laptop.
"Aren't you supposed to be resting, Yuy? You're not going to get better any faster if you don't take a break."
"I'mb nod sick!" This exclamation was punctuated with a loud sneeze and several seconds of nose blowing before the boy could continue. "I'mb nod sick and I don need whadever culinary bonstrosity you're drying to force on me," he finished, warily eying the tray Wufei carried.
"Its chicken noodle soup and orange juice," Wufei informed him imperiously. "It will make you feel better and help boost your immune system so that you can get over this illness as quickly as possible."
"I told you I'MB NOD SICK!!!!! Now ged oud of my roomb before I kill you. You're wasting mby timbe!"
Wufei's eyes narrowed. Very slowly and deliberately he set down the tray and approached the bed. He whipped the computer and tissue box off the bed before the occupant could stop him and grabbed said occupant by the collar of his shirt. His words came out deadly quiet in a low growl.
"Look, Yuy, Maxwell and I spent all afternoon making that soup and you're going to eat it whether you want to or not. I don't care if I have to sit in here and shove it down your worthless, ungrateful throat. Furthermore, you're going to like it and you're going to say thank you. Otherwise, I'm sending Duo in here after I've pumped 17 cups of espresso and 250 pixie stix into him... And I'll let him bring his Ukulele. Do you understand?"
A look of horror like none he had ever known crossed Heero Yuy's face as he realized that in his current condition he really wouldn't even be capable of escape, let alone a match for that kind of threat. Wufei took the expression as consent and placed the tray on Heeros lap. Then he handed back the box of tissues, picked up the laptop, and waited.
"...Dhank you."
The Chinese pilot nodded. He turned on his heel and left the room, laptop tucked neatly under one arm.