“Okay! How very cryptic of you, as always. Now, fire away with your personal question. I’m intrigued.”

He continued, fidgeting with his hands. I reached out and stilled his fingers, nodding my head in encouragement.

He coughed. “Erm…Well, you said you were ill before, something before this hormone problem you have now.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He adjusted his position, leaning on his elbow, running his hand back and forth on the bed sheet. “Well, I was wondering… what was wrong, you know… before? When you were young. You don’t have to say if you don’t want to,” he asked, looking very guilty for doing so.

“I don’t mind telling you. It’s just I don’t necessarily advertise it as it was years ago, and it’s in my past. I don't even mention my current condition to anyone outside of my family. It's not who I am, I am not defined by my illness, so why tell anyone about it?”

He reached out to hold my hand, he must have thought I needed some support.

I sighed heavily. “I had Leukemia when I was a kid. It was bad, and the doctors weren’t sure that I would make it. Anyway, after a lot of treatment I did make it through – full remission, no relapses. I just got stuck with this bloody hormone problem a few years later, but other than that I’m all good. My parents never really got over it, are a bit clingy, but I try to live each day with a positive attitude. The way I see it, I’m alive when many of my friends – you know, other kids I met in various hospital wards – are not. I cherish every breath I take out of respect for them. No use living in the past, I’m all for a brighter tomorrow.”

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.