After a week of Skwisgaar being home we've already spent nearly everyday together, with the exception of yesterday. He had practice and I've honestly been getting into art more and more. I want to make him something, but I don't think anything I'd make would be good enough. Not for him, but me. It has to be the best before it gets handed over to him. I don't even know what I'd make him.

I contemplate this as I sit in front of the canvas, trying to remember a scene in my head. Something special. Nothing seems to come to mind by the time my phone buzzes. As if by coincidence, it's him.

"Hey, what's up?" I say cheerfully, which brings my attention to the fact that I've hardly been this happy for so long, ever.

"Hey," he starts. There's something up with his voice, I can tell pretty quickly. It's raspy and quiet.

"I thinks we haves to cancel for later," he sighs, "I'm not feelings too good."

"You're sick?"

"Uh... Yeah."

Something seems to stir inside my mind, but I brush it aside for later.

"That's fine, I'll see you later in the week, then? When you're better?"

He agrees and we say our goodbyes before hanging up. The conversation was a little rushed, but that's my doing. The perfect idea formed in my head as the conversation came to an end. Maybe not perfect, actually. I've never had the greatest immune system after all.

Nevertheless, I get into the car and drive over to Mordhaus. I don't have much in the way of medicine, other than Ibuprofen and NyQuil, and I'm assuming that those are considered essentials. They sit in my bag anyway, just in case. You never know with that bunch. Just based on stories Skwisgaar told me they don't seem too bright. It's all I can hope that he's not bleeding into a bucket right now.

I jog up to the front, suddenly slowing down as the Gears come into view. Would they even recognize me as one of the 'sluts' he brought home? I shudder at the thought of it. We've only hung out here a few times, and there's no doubt the Gears switch shifts or something like that.

"Ma'am, are you authorized to be here?" A masked man asks.

"I'm dating the lead guitarist," I reply as casually as possible, specifically avoiding labels in case we aren't there yet. Although, we've been through a lot already and there's no reason not to call us what we seem to be.

"His girlfriend." I finish, probably looking kind of stupid as my face is overcome with pride. The man, however, only scoffs.

"Right, likely story."

"No, it's true!" I say a little too loudly, only to feel my face redden with embarrassment at my childish behavior. The door behind the man opens and Nathan stands there with Pickles, who I've learned is the drummer.

Pickles begins to open his mouth and turn around, ready to yell out something. Before he can Nathan shoves him with a condescending glare and turns back to me.

"Hey Bea. You know Skwisgaar's sick, right?" He says, motioning me to follow him in anyway.

"Yea, He's not doin' too good. Wouldn't admit it, though," Pickles adds with a chuckle. "That's why I'm here, actually. Well, he doesn't know yet."

The two grin at each other briefly, eyebrows raising with amusement. Do they know something? Why else would they find this so entertaining, if anything?  Still, they allow me to make my way up to his room, where I softly knock on his door to make sure he's not asleep. As hoped he yells out as best he can, "Yes?"

I turn the knob and push the door open, smiling at his astonishment.

"I thoughts we cancelleds... Oh shits, did I imagines that, too?" I shake my head as I sit down beside him. He looks miserable. He lays in bed helplessly, his eyes glassy and nose red. He's wrapped himself in blankets and sweaters and he's still shivering.

"I'm going to be your own personal nurse today," I say.

"Good, you ams way hotter than the nurse they assigns to me," he replies, to which I giggle even though it's more than just funny to me. I place the back of my hand on his forehead and feel my smile fade from my face.

"Oh, Skwisgaar, your nurse must suck because this is bad. You're burning up."

"But then why ams I cold, huh?"

"That's how fevers work!" I grunt as I lift him up and pull his shell of blankets off of him, along with his 2 sweaters. This leaves him shirtless and shivering.

"Stay here," I say as I walk off to find a some sort of cold compress for his head.

"This ams suddenly a lot less hot!" he yells back to me as he clutches his arms across his chest, referring to my caring for him. I come back after a minute and have him lay down again, placing the cold cloth against his forehead first, then down his body. He watches silently, still shivering but much more at ease. After a while of this I place the cloth on his bedside table and pull a single blanket over him.

"Thank you," he says softly, an odd amount of both shock and appreciation in his voice. It's now that I remember his mother never really did anything like this for him.

"Of course," I say simply, as if that hadn't been considered.

"I love you."

My heart seems to pound in my chest for only a second before calming down again. It's now that it's clear we've never said it, even though we both felt it. At least I hope we did.

"I love you, too," I reply after a second. He smiles and a warm feeling travels down my body. I lean down to kiss him because, fever or not, I love him.

Okay, I know, another time skip. I just had an idea for this scenario and couldn't not write it. And let me say, I don't know about you but I'm so happy with it. As always, thanks for reading!!!