𝐒𝐢𝗺𝗼𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐥 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝗼𝐭𝐬.

𝑾𝒉𝒚?

"She was once a true love of mine~"

The audience was in excellent spirits at this show. Everything was going well. The show was almost up, and they were going to get a fat paycheck after this. The show ended shortly after, standing up to give their bows and little thanks you.

Then, there was a thump.

The guitarist looked over to where everyone was looking wide-eyed and opened mouthed. There, on the floor, face downed and unmoving, was the singer.

The curtains closed pretty quickly. Everything was really quick. He heard the host comforting the audience as he saw the crew trying to wake up the one with the curly hair.

"Paul, Paul." The guitarist jumped when someone touched his shoulder. "We already called for an ambulance. Are you good? You looked like a statue."

"Y-yeah." He kept glancing at the singer, his hands shaking. "Is he sick?"

"There's no fever, but he's pale looking."

"Ugh...." The singer blinked his watery eyes. Just in time, too. The EMTs came just a few seconds later and spoke to him like he was a child before driving him to the hospital.

-----------------------

He was discharged the same night. Apparently, he was dehydrated. He had to stay in bed, dizzy and exhausted. Paul stayed with him in bed for the whole day. They weren't a couple, but they acted like one for years. They knew they were more than friends, that's for sure.

"Artie, you gotta drink this water." He held a glass of water to his lips. "Just a bit, then you could back to sleep."

Art, the singer, drank a bit before laying back on the pillow. This wasn't worrisome. He was always sleepy lately. Besides, he was pretty cute when he was tired. He would be all snuggled up in the blankets and want his best friend to be close to him all day.

Paul strung his guitar as the other went back to sleep. He found it hard to come up with anything when his friend wasn't well. Once, when Art wasn't talking to him for a week, he seriously considered quitting his musical career because he couldn't come up with anything.

--------------------

"Alright, how are you feeling?" Paul asked them when they were in the studio a day later.

"Okay, just kinda dizzy."

"Think you could do some singing?"

"Yeah."

They practiced in the studio for a while. Paul was pleased with how easy ideas came. He just had to think for a second, and then he had all the music he wanted. He looked over at Art when he got too quiet. He saw him laying his head on the table. He stopped recording and patted his back.

"Artie, you're not feeling well?" Art mumbled a yes. Paul decided to drive them back to their hotel.

-------------

He tried giving him water like the doctor said, but it didn't really seem to help. Art told him he would go to the doctor tomorrow. He was snuggled up with Paul in the bed, his heart beating too hard and too fast.

Paul tried not to worry, but he couldn't live if he didn't worry about everything. He hoped it was the worst flu ever. Art always got sick when the weather was beginning to get cold. He'll be ok. He has to be.

-----------
It was early in the morning when it happened. Paul woke up to piss. Half asleep and getting some pee on the floor, he heard a sound that woke up with a joint. He thought an injured animal got in with the way it sounded. It was a mix of crying, whimpering, and grunting. He rushed in, half-expecting to see an animal running around.

He wished he didn't have to see it.

His best friend in the whole world, on the floor, seizing. He screamed so loud that the people across from them came racing in to see. The man that ran in knew what to do. He put him in the recovery position and put a cloth in his mouth as the trembling and crying musician called a friend, any friend, to drive them to the hospital.

"Paul, we're in London."

"Nah, man, I can't make it."

"Bob, listen!" He called Bob Dylan, for he was actually in town and the only one left. "Bob, you gotta help me!"

"What?! What?!" Bob, high as a kite and tripping the biggest balls you could ever trip, was beginning to freaking out. The last time Paul called him sobbing at two in the morning was because he was always tripping and thought he saw a dragon destroying New York. The two dumbasses ended up crying in the street, thinking the dragon was going to eat them. Art never let him live that down.

The seizure stopped. Art had peed himself and laid unconscious. "Can you drive us?! We need to go to the hospital now!"

"Man, I'll have one of the maids drive you. Where you at?"

"Oh, thank God!"

-----------------

Art had to stay in for two days to test for Epilepsy or something like that. They found the problem. Anemia. He would need medicine and would have to eat sugar for a while. He was able to be discharged the day they found out.

When he got home, he stayed around Paul, sick and tired. They got to cuddle, speak for a while, and then they kissed. It wasn't unclear rather it was just him being dizzy or the other's care, but they kissed over and over again the whole night.

They didn't officially say they wanted to date, but they started like an actual couple. That's what they always did, but now they could kiss and say those things married people say.

-------------

Before their next show, Paul looked over at Art, who was nervously twisting his hair.

"What if I pass out again?"

"Do you feel sick?"

"No." He laid his head on his shoulder. "Just nervous, y'know?

"Yeah, I get it."

Shyly, like a child who's being naughty, the shorter kissed his forehead. Art smiled at him and kissed his cheek. They couldn't stop staring at each other, blushing.

"Um," For once, Paul was lost for words. "I, uh, I think everything's going to be good."

Art kept smiling at him, starstruck. "Yeah..."

They had fifteen minutes before the show started. They decided to sneak off behind stage to the changing room. There was a couch there. They laid on it and made out, ruffling each other's hair and hugging the other's body. This felt so natural. Why were they fighting it so long?

"Y'know, you really worried me." Paul pulled away from the kiss, his hands on his shoulders. "Don't have a seizure again, I thought you were dying."

"I won't." He grinned. "Or would I?" Paul raised an eyebrow. "Ok! I promise."

"Good." He went to kiss his head, but a knock on the door told them it was time for the show.

"You ready?" The shorter stood up, holding out his hand.

The taller smiled and took his hand, feeling the softness of his skin. "Yeah, let's go."