Not Good Enough For Truth In Cliche

The Blood On My Hands Is Something I Cannot Forget

"Will you come on tour?" Max asked.
I bit my lip. "I just... I don't want to get sick. It's bad, you already know that."
"I understand if you don't."
"I'll come."
He grinned and hugged me. "Yay!"
"I'm gonna get sick though, but... I'll come."
"Thank you!"
"Yeah."
"I'll get you stuff, medicine, I'll keep you healthy."
"Thanks."
"Don't worry, I'll do everything to make sure you're okay." He promised.
"Thank you." I grinned. "You're amazing."
"I know."
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Max laughed. "You don't need two suitcases."
"Okay, how much shit do I need?"
"One suitcase."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"You need clothes."
"Oh, really?" I asked sarcastically.
"Yeah."
I rolled my eyes and threw in a few pairs of pants and a couple shorts. I tossed in some shirts, a couple sweatshirts, and some undergarments. "Enough clothes?"
"You need at least once nice outfit."
I tossed in a black dress and a skirt/nice shirt combo. "Good?"
Max folded one of his sweatshirts up and threw it in. "This one's yours."
"Aw, thanks. What else?"
"Shampoo and shit, anything else you'll need to entertain yourself."
I put shampoo, conditioner, body wash, face wash, lotion, a razor, and shaving cream in. "Ugh, I don't have perfume."
"This is why you don't wait until the night before to pack." Max said, looking at his already packed suitcase.
"Don't use logic on me."
"Okay." He smiled, amused.
I tossed in my hair brush. "Got the medicine?"
Max handed me a bag of medicines. "Here you go, babe."
I put it in the bag. "Ready?"
"Yeah. I'm ready for tour. You?"
"Yeah." I collapsed onto the bed. "Fuck, I'm gonna get my last good night of sleep."
"I'll come with." Max turned off the light and crawled next to me.
"Good night, Max."
"Good night, babe." He kissed my hair.
I promptly fell asleep in his arms, and I know he soon followed.