Seth is partially slumped, leaning against one hand on the counter and watching the bacon as he idly turns it with a fork. He probably should care about the popping grease, or the fact that his jacket is hanging on a chair and his shirt is undone over his undershirt, but dammit, he's too sick to care.

Glancing up, he may look a bit worn around the edges though he manages what passes for a smile. "I'm full of secrets and delights," he teases, gesturing at the plate. "And as you have, help yourself. There's some kind of rolls in the oven. I'm figuring sandwiches."

And praying it all helps in the long run. He overdid it and given it's been at least a month, he's feeling it.