GEMINI.
I slid out of bed, careful not to jostle the still-recovering Percy. My earlier fatigue was gone, replaced by the clean, sharp energy that comes after successfully pulling an all-nighter of caregiving, my Nana would be so proud. After a quick shower, I headed to the kitchen. It's high time I transfer that energy into something useful.
I decided on something comforting and protein-packed: soft scrambled eggs, fresh toast, and a side of crispy bacon. The kitchen at Percy's house is immaculate and well-stocked, making the cooking effortless. Soon, the space was filled with the savory, warm scent of breakfast, a much more appealing aroma than antiseptic and fever-reducer.
I was carefully arranging the plates when Percy walked in. He looked refreshed, his hair still damp, wearing a simple t-shirt and sweats. He was leaning against the door frame, watching me.
"That smells incredible," he said, his voice completely back to its usual steady and husky register.
"It should. I'm operating on low sleep and high efficiency," I replied, placing the two plates on the island. "Come sit. It's time to eat."
He did, but as he picked up his fork, he looked from the plate to me with an expression of genuine surprise.
"I didn't realize you could cook," he admitted.
I laughed, setting a glass of orange juice next to his plate. "Well, I certainly hope you didn't think I survived my entire life solely on takeouts and questionable junk food."
Percy gave a slight shrug, a gesture that conveyed, his thoughts. Knowing him it'll be something along the lines of, "honestly, I hadn't given it much thought, but yes, I kind of assumed that." But yeah, I totally understand his confusion. Though, the few times he'd seen me handle food, I was usually just microwaving something sad in my dorm or attacking a pre-made sandwich.
"I know, I know," I said, sliding into the stool across from him. "It's not exactly a skill I advertise. But I've been cooking since I was about ten." Percy paused, his fork hovering over his eggs. He looked up, waiting.
"After my parents died, it was just me and my grandmother," I explained, the words coming out easily now that the initial awkwardness of the topic had faded years ago. "She was amazing, but she was also working two jobs to keep us afloat. And honestly, she wasn't exactly a culinary genius." I smiled faintly at the memory. "So, of course, I learned how to cook. Someone had to make sure we were eating something besides canned soup and toast. I found it relaxing, actually. And cheaper. Much...much cheaper."
The silence that followed was different from the strained quiet of the night before. This was soft, thoughtful. Percy slowly returned to his food, chewing carefully.
"This is good" he finally said, looking genuinely impressed. "You should have offered to cook us something sooner."
"You never asked," I countered, taking a bite of my own eggs. "And frankly, given your habit of always asking me to pick whatever I wanted to eat from takeout menus, I didn't think you needed a personal chef."
He didn't argue that point. He just continued to eat, and I watched, feeling a deep, satisfying warmth spread through me. It wasn't just the success of the meal; it was the quiet sense of achievement of having taken care of him and, too, like he always did for me.
After breakfast, I made a major decision that I knew he wasn't going to like.
"You're not going anywhere today," I announced, clearing the breakfast dishes. "You were just running a fever of over a hundred, you need to rest. I'm staying here to keep an eye on you."
Percy, who had been leaning against the counter looking significantly better but still pale, immediately scoffed.
"That's ridiculous. I'm fine. I have work I need to get done, and I certainly don't need a babysitter. Leave when you're done with the plates."
"That's exactly what the patient says before they relapse," I countered, setting my hands on my hips. "Listen, you have spent the last few weeks making sure I was fed, sheltered, and technologically equipped. You're always looking out for me, I'm just returning the favor. It's called being a good person, and right now, your job is to lay on the couch and rest."
He stared at me, his handsome face set in an expression of deep disapproval. Then, slowly, a reluctant sigh left his lips. He must have recognized the look of stubborn determination I inherited from my Nana.
"Fine," he conceded with another long, dramatic sigh. "It appears I am not the only one who can be stubborn. Have it your way."
"You're right about that," I said, a small, triumphant smile breaking through. I can't believe I'm actually telling him what to do and he's doing it. "Now go get comfortable on the couch. I'll get you something to keep you warm and then, I'm putting on that documentary about ancient architecture that you like so much."
And just like that, I transitioned from being on the receiving end of Percy's Bossy behavior to the one calling the shots.
It's the best feeling ever!
I spent the late morning tidying up the kitchen, making sure he stayed hydrated, and generally just hovering over him—a gesture he mostly tolerated with quiet grace.
In the early afternoon, my action of vetoing all of his work-related calls resulted in me finding out he has an assistant. Following this, I urged him to watch a war historical movie I thought he might like. For the viewing, I was settled on the end of the large sofa, curled into a corner, while Percy lay stretched out near the center, propped up with pillows.
We were about halfway through a particularly dramatic siege scene between two clans when I felt a movement. Without any warning, Percy pulled me into his arms. His arm, still warm but no longer burning, wrapped firmly around my shoulders, pulling my back against his chest. His head dropped gently to rest near my shoulder, his chin slightly brushing my hair.
My body went completely rigid. I was used to him randomly pulling me close in his sleep, a subconscious gesture I was always too bashful to mention in the morning. But to do this while we were both awake, fully aware, watching a movie, was utterly surprising. It felt intensely intimate and strange.
"Percy?" I whispered, my heart giving a startled thump. "What are you doing?"
He didn't move. His voice was a low rumble right next to my ear.
"I'm getting comfortable," he murmured, adjusting his weight slightly.
"But... you didn't ask. And we're not sleeping," I tried to explain, feeling my cheeks heat up.
"I'm a patient, Gemini," he said, and I could hear the faint smile in his voice. "And I need my nurse to be within immediate proximity for fluid regulation checks and general temperature assessment. Don't overthink it."
I stared at the screen, utterly stunned. Percy, of all people, the guy who detests every form of unnecessary physical touch and social fuss, wanted to play nurse with me?
"You can't be serious," I scoffed, though I made no move to pull away. His presence was surprisingly heavy and grounding, and even a little nice. "You're using your illness as an excuse to get your way."
"It's working, isn't it?" he replied simply, tightening his arm around me just slightly. "Now be quiet. The soldiers are scaling the wall."
I sighed, shaking my head. The sheer audacity of his logic was something else. I was completely trapped by my own caregiving role. I was the nurse, and he was the demanding, incredibly handsome patient who was suddenly acting like a giant, fever-recovering teddy bear. I had no choice but to let him win. I gave in, letting my tension ease, and focused—or tried to focus—on the dramatic siege on screen.