Beau was quite literally the most stubborn man to ever live. Nothing could stop him if he needed to, especially when it comes to his job. This man was a forced to be reckoned with. It's a good thing, yes, but not exactly when it comes to him getting sick. He hated getting sick, he was a busy man, he had shit to do. But he also kind of hates being taken care of, as much as he loves when you do it.

He likes to take care of himself, he doesn't need anyone else's help. Issue is, you're just as stubborn as he is. And you like taking care of him. Beau tried everything he could to hide being sick from you, but it wasn't exactly working when he woke up sniffling and looking like hell fucking froze over.

"Darlin', I told you m'fine, look at me," he was walking around in just a pair of sweatpants, literally wandering around like he was about to drop dead. He runs a hand through his hair, his groaning interrupted by a crunchy cough bubbling from his throat. God, he looked like shit. Like, awful. But he doesn't need help, he still thinks.

Beau grasps at the wall for a minute, shaking his head. He's so overdramatic, you're realising. Well, you knew that, but not to this extent. He groans, folding his arms across his chest and glancing at you for a moment with a sigh falling from his lips. "I ain't sick."

Ain't sick, your ass. He isn't as good of a liar as he thought he was. Literally the opposite.