He stilled, and I realised he hadn't moved for most of the big reveal.

“Tude, you okay?”

He coughed again, hunching his defined traps – you know, those gorgeous chunks of muscle between the neck and shoulder, and on Tudor they were so big they met his freakin’ earlobes!

“Shit!” he whispered, interrupting my salivation over his fine physique. He was shaking, his hand was still entwined with mine in an awkward, backwards clasp, and it was trembling. He shifted back around and was staring at me, now seeing me differently.

This is why I don’t tell anyone.

“Tude, it’s fine. I’m fine.” I hate the pity, even if it comes from a good place.

“Fuck, Tash. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought maybe measles or something equally on that scale, but not… cancer. And this hormone thing, what happens with that? How serious is it? Can it harm you? Is it life-threatening too?”

He was panicking; I could see it in his expression and in the tone of his voice.

I began stroking his arm, something my mam used to do to calm me down. “No, don’t panic. My hormones are just a bit erratic. I had surgery years ago to help and it did for the most part. The medication evens the imbalance out, but sometimes if I’m stressed or get ill they can make me feel like this – my immune system is not very strong. Oh, and it means I will always be a little bit chubby,” I winked.

He scowled. “You’re not chubby.”

“Yeah. Okay, Tude,” I spluttered, starting to pull away.

He leaned down and cupped my chin, halting my movements. “I mean it, Sunshine, you’re not chubby… you’re... beautiful.”

There goes my temperature again.

“Tudor, it’s fine. I know I’m not a rhino, actually, saying that, I was once referred to as an elephant… but look, you know, being used to the Hollywood circles, that I’m a chub, and I'm okay with that. I’ve made my peace with it. I'd take the gift of life over a bikini-ready body any day.”

He jerked up, annoyed. “Fucking hell, Tash, stop saying that! Half of those actresses are emaciated, eating-disorder thin. Most are like that through drugs or surgery or both. I’m a big guy, I can handle a bit of meat on the bones of a woman, in fact, I prefer it. Nothing wrong with curves. I’m an ass and boob man all the way. I like something to hold on to,” he said completely seriously.

I shrugged nonchalantly but was really kind of buzzing about it.

“Fair enough. I for one am glad you're a chubby-chaser. It’ll help me succeed with the wicked plans I have in mind for you!”

"Tash..." he growled, warning me to shut up, but I saw him smirk when he thought I wasn't looking. I pulled my lips tightly together and made an exaggerated zipping motion over my mouth. He seemed mollified.

He walked around the bed and reached for the glass of water off my cabinet. “Drink,” he ordered, tilting my head up. “I don’t want you to get dehydrated.” After a few sips, he placed the glass back down and adjusted the pillow, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“So, does it ever get any worse than this?”

I nodded. “Sometimes, but if I take my medication I’m okay. The fainting, that doesn’t always happen. I got too far to the brink and Tink wasn’t here to pull me back. That’s the only reason this all looks so bad. It’s not normally so dramatic of an occasion,” I assured.

Tudor rubbed his hands over his face and shaved head, and looked at me in deep regard. “I don’t like it, Sunshine.”

He crawled over me and laid down, staring straight up at the ceiling.

I shrugged. “It is what it is. As Ron Burgundy would say ‘It's part of my life!’"

He nodded, steadfastly solemn. Bloody hell, even Anchorman quotes were failing to raise a smile.

I shuffled closer, laying my head on his stomach. He tensed, arms levitating in the air, not sure where to put them or even if he should touch me. I didn’t care, he needed a bloody big hug. He wasn't dealing with this well, he was too intense, too fenced in.

He eventually held me in his arms. “As if I need one more reason to think about you. You're pretty much in every waking thought as it is. Now I can add worrying about this to the pile."

He sighed loudly. Bloody hell, the boy loved to brood, no wonder chicks went crazy for him! All sullen and dark – pass me a wet wipe!

“Hey, Tude?”

“Yeah?” he answered in a glum-sounding voice.

“…don’t make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better,” I sang. “Nah na na nan a na naaa, Nah na na nan a na naaa, hey Tude!"

He giggled, actually girly-giggled. I loved the sound. I was bouncing lightly with the movement of his ridiculously ripped stomach.

“You’re such a dork!” He squeezed me tighter.

“Why thank you, Mr. Too-Cool-for-School.”

He was quiet for a few minutes before he spoke again. “It’s weird, you don’t know how true those lyrics are to me.”

I nodded my head in silence. I had nothing to say to that and he understood I would give no response. That kind of talk led us to bad places. We were strictly friends, as we had now agreed, who, granted, on occasion got a bit touchy-feely, a tad too flirty, a bit turbulent, but it was fine. We knew where we stood.

He tapped my arm. "Come on, let's call Tink before he flies back and castrates me. You need to sleep and get better. We’ll talk more when you’re stronger."