Malcolm hated being sick. He really hated it, but he tried to get through it without whinging too much. But there was always a point where Malcolm felt like melting into his bed and turning into a puddle of primordial ooze, composed mostly of germs and snot. He'd reached that point last night, had pulled himself into bed and curled up there, waiting for it to be over, except for getting up for the loo and sending an owl about a half hour ago to Jamie, begging for intervention in the form of entertainment and orange juice. He wasn't sure if he could drink orange juice, but it never failed to make him feel better after a bit, so he hoped that Jamie brought a lot.

He hated looking sick, so he managed to haul himself into the shower before Jamie showed up. He was just coming out of the bathroom in his underwear, drying his hair with a towel when Jamie arrived. Malcolm gave Jamie a pitiful look, but smiled. "You came!" he said with his hoarse voice, and ended up having a slight coughing fit. "I hope you brought a germ suit," he said before slouching back to his bedroom and crawling back under the covers, leaving his wet towel at the end of the bed. "I feel like shite. Better, clean shite, but still shite nonetheless."

There were some days at the Ministry where Amery just felt like blowing everything up.

Of course, he was never entirely happy at work, but there were just some days that pushed him over the edge.

In fact, Amery was literally at the point where he was snarling at practically everyone who crossed his path. There were few things he really enjoyed about his work, and on days like these, even less.

Paperwork that needed proper filing, presentations to see to, superiors to answer to, inferiors to demand answers from--

Frankly, he couldn't wait for the day to be over.

He was turning the corner when he was suddenly smacked into a body and stumbled slightly. "Excuse me," Amery snapped, dusting off his robes where they'd be disturbed. "I doubt it would pain you to watch where you were going."