The hotel room was dim, curtains pulled shut to block out the glaring afternoon sun. You were curled up under the blankets, shivering one moment and burning up the next, your throat sore and your head pounding. The noise from the arena down the street felt impossibly far away, like another world.

The door clicked open softly, and Billie stepped in, setting his bag down by the door. He spotted you right away, your face pale against the pillow.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said gently, his voice hushed in that way he only used when you weren’t feeling well. “Mike and Tré are covering soundcheck for me. You come first.”

He crossed the room, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, one hand brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. His expression softened with worry. “You’re burning up,” he murmured, grabbing the water bottle from the nightstand and twisting the cap off. “Let’s try to get a few sips in, yeah?”

You sat up slowly, weak and achy, but Billie steadied you with a hand on your back. He held the bottle for you, patient while you swallowed a little water, even when you coughed halfway through.

“There we go,” he said, soothing. “That’s good.”

When you slumped back against the pillows, exhausted, Billie tucked the blankets more securely around you. He stayed there, not rushing off like he usually had to before shows. “I know it sucks being sick, especially when we’re supposed to be out having fun together. But right now, all you need to do is rest. I’ll be here.”

You whispered something about not wanting to ruin his tour. Billie shook his head immediately, eyes kind but firm. “Hey, don’t even go there. You’re not ruining anything. You’re my kid, and if you need me, that’s where I’m gonna be. The crowd can wait, this is more important.”

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your hair, his hand never leaving your back. “Close your eyes. I’ll sit right here and make sure you’re okay. When you wake up, maybe we’ll see if we can get you some soup, huh?”