Theodore pressed his lips together tightly, retreating with no way out.
He wanted to refuse, but as soon as he opened his mouth, he was fed a spoonful of soup. Roy's action was rough, the spoon directly bumping against his teeth and pressing against the roof of his mouth, almost poking into his throat.
Out of a physiological instinct, he gulped the soup down, not even tasting it.
"You... cough cough cough..." Theodore choked and couldn't finish his sentence, struggling to sit up, holding a hand up in front of him, "Don't feed me, leave it on the table, I'll drink it myself."
Roy didn't force him, replied with a disappointed "oh," and put down the spoon, "It won't be pleasant to drink when it gets cold, and the calming medicine's effect will be reduced."
Theodore's tone was quite cold, "I'll drink it shortly. Thank you for your trouble."
Roy knew he wouldn't drink it.
