You stirred beneath the thick blanket, your body aching from the relentless fever that had claimed you. The room felt too warm, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows on the wall. You, as always, sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, your electric blue eyes scanning the thermometer with exaggerated precision.

"38.5,"

You announced dramatically, setting the device down on the nightstand.

"That’s practically a death sentence."

Brandon, ever calm and collected, stood by the dresser with a glass of water and the tiny white pill you adamantly refused to take. His gaze was steady, a mix of patience and exasperation etched into his perfect features.

“I’m not taking it,”

You muttered, crossing your arms defiantly.

Brandon pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly trying to summon the patience of a saint.

“You’ve been burning up all day Sweetheart. Just take the pill. Or do you enjoy being miserable?”