The first sign something was wrong was the silence.
Keifer usually woke up early, checked his emails, and started his day like a machine—calm, efficient, unstoppable.
But that morning…
He didn't move.
Not even when the sunlight hit his face.
I watched him for a few minutes, my heart tightening.
He looked pale.
His skin felt hot when I touched it.
I sat up and leaned closer.
"Keifer," I whispered.
He groaned softly, but didn't open his eyes.
My chest tightened.
I sat up quickly and pressed my hand to his forehead.
The heat hit me like a wall.
He had a fever.
My mind immediately went into action.
I didn't panic.
I didn't freeze.
I just knew what needed to be done.
I stood up and rushed to the kitchen.
I grabbed a glass of water and some pain relief medicine from the cabinet.
I returned to him, and gently shook his shoulder.
"Keifer," I said softly. "You're burning up."
He opened his eyes slowly, his vision blurry.
"Jay…" he murmured, voice weak.
"I'm here," I replied.
I helped him sit up and placed the water in his hands.
He drank slowly.
Then he leaned back, exhausted.
I took the blanket off him and changed it to a lighter one.
He was shivering now, but his body was hot.
His teeth were chattering.
I didn't blink.
I didn't hesitate.
I wrapped the blanket around him tightly and sat beside him.
"Stay here," I told him.
He looked at me, confused. "Why are you taking care of me?"
I stared at him.
Because he had always taken care of me.
Because he never left me alone when I was scared.
Because he deserved to be cared for.
And because… I loved him.
"You're sick," I said simply. "So I'm taking care of you."
He tried to speak, but his voice was weak.
I leaned closer and whispered, "Just rest."
The day passed slowly.
I didn't leave his side.
I checked his temperature every hour.
I wiped his forehead with a cool towel.
I brought him soup and water and anything he could eat.
He barely ate, but he drank.
And every time he tried to stand, I stopped him.
"Don't move," I said, firm.
He looked at me like he was annoyed, but I could see the gratitude in his eyes.
At one point, he tried to smile.
"You're acting like my nurse," he whispered.
I smiled back.
"Good," I replied. "Because you're my patient."
He laughed once—weak, but real.
Then he looked at me seriously.
"Jay," he said quietly, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" I asked.
"For making you worry," he replied.
I shook my head.
"You don't get to apologize for being sick," I said. "You're allowed to be weak around me."
His eyes softened.
"Even if I'm a burden?"
I leaned closer and touched his cheek.
"You're not a burden," I said. "You're mine."
He closed his eyes and rested his head back.
I stayed beside him, holding his hand.
And I realized something:
I didn't need him to be strong for me anymore.
Because I could be strong for him.
That night, his fever was worse.
He was sweating, shaking, and his breathing was heavy.
I sat beside him, watching him carefully.
When he started coughing, I held a glass of water to his lips.
He drank slowly, eyes closed.
I wiped his mouth gently.
He looked at me, voice hoarse.
"Jay… I hate feeling like this."
I smiled softly, tears forming in my eyes.
"I know," I whispered. "But you're not alone."
I leaned closer and kissed his forehead.
"You're going to get better," I said. "And I'm going to make sure of it."
He nodded, too tired to speak.
I stayed up all night with him.
I didn't sleep.
I didn't rest.
I didn't blink.
Because the moment he was okay, I would let myself relax.
In the morning, the fever finally started to go down.
Keifer's eyes opened slowly.
He looked at me, and for the first time, he looked weak.
Not in a bad way.
Just… human.
He whispered, "Jay…"
I smiled.
"You're awake," I said softly.
He nodded.
"Thank you," he said.
I squeezed his hand.
"You don't need to thank me," I replied. "You just need to get better."
He looked at me with a soft expression.
"I'm sorry I scared you," he said.
I shook my head.
"You didn't scare me," I replied. "You just reminded me that I love you more than I thought."
He smiled faintly.
"Good," he whispered. "Because I love you too."
Keifer was still lying on the bed when I came back from the bathroom with the warm water.
He looked smaller than usual.
Like the illness had taken away the power he always carried so effortlessly.
His eyes were half-open, and his breathing was shallow.
When he saw me, he tried to sit up.
"Don't," I said firmly.
He stopped, then gave me a weak smile. "I'm fine."
"No," I replied softly. "You're not."
He looked at me, and for a moment, I saw the fear he never showed anyone.
The fear of being helpless.
The fear of being dependent.
The fear of needing someone.
I walked to him and gently lifted his head, supporting him like he was fragile glass.
"I'm going to help you," I said.
His eyes searched mine.
"Jay…"
"Shh," I whispered. "Just let me."
He was too weak to stand.
Even to walk.
So I helped him to the bathroom like he was a child.
He didn't fight.
He didn't argue.
He just trusted me.
And that trust made my heart ache.
I filled the tub with warm water and soap, then helped him step in carefully.
His skin was still hot.
His body trembled.
I sat beside him and held the washcloth in my hand, doing the smallest, simplest things like washing his hair and shoulders.
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, he looked peaceful.
Then he opened his eyes and looked at me.
"Jay," he whispered.
I paused, not moving.
"Yes?"
He swallowed.
"I don't like being like this," he admitted.
I smiled gently. "No one does."
He looked away. "I hate feeling weak."
I leaned closer and brushed his hair back from his forehead.
"You don't have to be strong for me," I said softly. "Not now. Not ever."
He looked at me, and I saw something like relief in his eyes.
Then he tried to smile again.
"Thank you," he whispered.
I shook my head. "You don't have to thank me."
He nodded, eyes tired.
"Just… promise me something," he said.
I waited.
"When you see me like this," he continued, "don't pity me."
I swallowed. "I won't."
He looked at me seriously. "Just… take care of me. Like you always do."
My throat tightened.
"I will," I said.
After the bath, I wrapped him in a towel and helped him back to the bed.
He looked exhausted, but there was a softness in his expression that wasn't there before.
He reached for my hand.
"Jay," he said, voice weak.
I leaned in.
"What?"
He smiled faintly. "When I'm better… I'll make sure you know how much I appreciate you."
I smiled back, trying to keep my voice steady.
"You don't have to promise me anything," I whispered.
He squeezed my hand.
"I'm not promising," he said. "I'm telling you."
I leaned closer, forehead resting against his.
"I love you," I whispered.
He closed his eyes.
"I love you too," he said.
And even though he was sick and weak and vulnerable, he still managed to make me feel like I was the only person in the world who mattered to him.
Because in that moment, I was.