GEMINI.
Our evening out has been nothing but perfect: a loud, silly action movie with Ohio, followed by this amazing nachos we got outside the movie theater. I feel completely relaxed, my mind happily numb from the low-stakes Hollywood drama. Percy picked me up right on time. I slid into the passenger seat, already laughing as I tried to recount the most ridiculous plot hole in the movie.
"And then the hero just teleports to the top of the building! With no explanation! It made no sense but it was magnificent!" I finished, turning to gauge Percy's reaction. Instead, I was met with silence. A heavy, unusual silence that felt wrong. I looked over at him. His jaw seemed tighter than usual, and his eyes, typically so caring and focused, looked slightly dimmed, fixed too steadily on the road.
"Percy? You okay?" I asked, the excitement draining from my voice. "You're seriously quiet, even for you."
"I'm fine," he replied, the words clipped and flat. He didn't offer a single detail about his day.
"Are you sure?" I asked and he didn't say anything, so I took a moment to collect my thoughts. I need to handle this differently. "I'm not asking this to annoy you, I'm genuinely worried. Did something happen after I left?" I pressed, worried. I hated seeing that familiar, internal angst from when we first met radiating off him again.
Percy shook his head, a small, weary movement. "Nothing. Just tired. Long day." he replied, eyes still on the road.
I don't like it when he does that but I want to push it. I know how fiercely he protected his emotional boundaries. If he wanted to talk, he would. I forced myself to respect the silence, settling back as we drove toward his place. The ride was short, strangely weighted, and filled with a low current of unacknowledged tension.
We got back to his house, and the routine was the same, yet felt subtly off. We both changed, and then, as usual, we went into his spacious bedroom and climbed into his king-sized bed. Sharing the bed that has become an easy habit for comfort and company. Sometime past midnight, I was pulled from a deep sleep by a sensation of intense heat pressing against my side. I was lying comfortably over my warm side of the bed before, but now the heat source was unbearable.
My eyes snapped open. Percy's arm was heavy across my waist, and he was curled slightly into my back. My entire body froze. My first thought was sheer panic—was he having a nightmare? But then the sheer, alarming heat of his body registered against mine. He was burning up!
I slowly, carefully turned over. The moment my hand touched his forehead, my breath caught in a gasp. It was alarmingly, frighteningly hot.
"Percy?" I whispered, shaking him gently.
He gave a low, uncomfortable moan, his eyes barely fluttering open. "Mmm?"
"You're burning up. You have a fever," I said, my voice filled with sudden urgency.
He tried to shift away, pulling the thick duvet higher. "No, I'm... I'm just cold. Go back to sleep."
"You are not just cold," I countered, pulling the duvet off him. "You're on fire. You've been sick all day, haven't you? That's why you were so quiet."
He just muttered something low and indistinct, burying his face deeper into the pillow. The realization of his carefully hidden vulnerability—his quiet withdrawal earlier—hit me instantly, replacing my initial fear with a clear, focused determination to care for him. He doesn't want anyone seeing him weak, does he?
Whiteout dwelling on it too much, I sprang into action, slipping out of bed. "Stay right here. Don't move. What am I even saying? He's sick! He's not going anywhere."
At this point I had no idea what I was saying as I raced to the bathroom for the first-aid kit, grabbed my phone, and immediately started googling how to take care of a sick person who was clearly refusing aid.
I spent the next hour working like a nurse on night shift. I found the thermometer: 102.5°F. Too high. I gently helped him shed the heavy blankets, replaced them with a lighter sheet, and brought a cool, damp cloth for his forehead.
"You need to drink this," I insisted, holding a glass of water and two pain relievers.
He blinked up at me, his eyes heavy and slightly glazed. "Don't... don't make a fuss," he mumbled, his voice hoarse.
"I'm not making a fuss, Percy. I'm worried." I replied firmly, helping him sit up just enough. "And you're going to swallow this and drink this water. You can be grumpy about it later." He complied, muttering quiet, nonsensical words whenever I tried to move him.
It was a long night. I sat vigil on the edge of the large bed, periodically checking his temperature and wetting the cloth. Worry was a cold knot in my stomach, but the physical need to care for him was intense. I gently coaxed him to drink water from time to time, adjusted the compress, and just watched his fitful sleep.
It wasn't until the first hint of grey, metallic light appeared in the sky that his fever finally seemed to break, his breathing easing into a deep, steady rhythm. Exhausted but relieved, I eased back down onto the cool pillow next to him, falling into a sleep that felt earned. I had spent the night battling a fever and protecting the person who's always protecting me. It was a good feeling.
The next time I woke up again, the first thing I registered was the daylight filtering through the blinds. The second thing was a presence inches away. Percy. He was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, looking across the spacious bed, his gaze fixed entirely on me. The alarming flush from the night before was gone, replaced by his usual complexion. His blonde hair was tousled, and his expression was completely serene, yet strangely intense. He's looking at my face, and the silence stretched out, making me feel incredibly bashful.
I suddenly remembered everything: the heat, the frantic Googling, the low, miserable moans he'd made when I forced him to drink water. My cheeks started heating up.
"Oh, hey," I mumbled, clearing my throat. "Good morning. How are you feeling? You look… much better. You were really burning up last night." I immediately started trying to explain my midnight emergency. "You had a fever. It was so high. I had to, you know, get you to take some medicine and use a cold cloth. I hope you don't mind. I went through your medicine cabinet—I wasn't sure what else to do."
Percy didn't interrupt. He just kept looking at me with that calm, unreadable intensity.
"I know," he finally said, his voice low and clear, completely lacking the rasp from the night before.
"You know? But you were barely awake!" I protested.
"I wasn't completely out," he confirmed. He offered me the faintest hint of a smile, almost vulnerable upturn of his lips. "And thank you, for taking care of me."
"Of course," I replied, feeling a wave of relief wash over the last remnants of my worry. "You looked miserable, like you were in so much pain. And you kept trying to pull the heavy blankets back up. That would've only made things worse."
He shifted slightly, moving the hand that had been propping him up. He reached out and gently brushed a stray curl of hair from my forehead. The gesture was slow and completely unexpected.
"You are quite bossy, aren't you, Gemini?" he observed, his eyes holding mine.
I stared at him, my mouth falling slightly open. "Bossy? I don't understand. I was only trying to take care of you."
"Precisely. The fussing, the firm tone, the way you kept ordering me to drink things," he continued, a soft amusement in his voice. "I don't think anyone has bossed me around like that since I was about five. It was…interesting."
I pulled myself up onto my elbows, trying to sound offended, though I couldn't hide the smile tugging at my own lips. "Well, someone had to be the bigger person! You were acting like a grumpy toddler! You were running a high fever, Percy! You should have told me you felt sick earlier."
He simply shrugged a shoulder. "I told you I was tired."
"That is not the same thing!" I almost yelled.
"I suppose not," he conceded, still looking at me with that strange, quiet fascination. He let his arm drop back to the bed. "My fevers are usually crazy. I'm glad you were here."
The simplicity and sincerity of that last statement completely deflated my anger. It was a moment of genuine warmth, acknowledging the unique event of the night.
"Me too," I said softly. "Now, if you're feeling up to it, I should probably go make some proper food, not just toast. You need food to take your medicine."
"It'll be nice to see my bossy nurse handle the kitchen today," Percy agreed, finally shifting to sit up in bed. His expression, though still reserved, held a clear measure of amusement. "Do your thing."