[Lydia is greeted with a bedridden Allison with her shadowed eyes narrowed nearly to slits as she peers at her best friend.]

Worrying is my job. And you're not coming to see me until I know you've had a decent meal...which I am forcing you to consume by eating with me.

[Allison's expression promptly melts into her biggest, glassiest doe eyes...which are decidedly lackluster and fatigued, though she's putting every ounce of energy she's got into acting like nothing hurts, like she wasn't dead...like she could leave any time she wanted.

It's killing her, physically, but goddamnit: she's going to make sure her friends believe she's fine.

So she also adds her best small, pathetic voice to the mix.]

So could you pretty please bring your poor, sick, feeble friend something to eat from the dining hall?

[Yes, Lydia, you are being manipulated. Deal with it.]

And maybe a cup of coffee or hot chocolate or something? Just something hot.

[...and now you are being manipulated less, as this request is just a bit more sincere.]