Page 7

Seven turned around, pulling open the mirror to extract the first aid kit. "Well, for starters, I’m helping you before you bleed to death," she scoffed lightly.

Some things never changed. Seven always opted to joke whenever the conversation got too tense for her. Whether it was in the middle of arguments or great debates, she was always going to lighten it with a simple joke. "Seven, I'm serious," he stated sternly.

She released a heavy breath as she turned back around to face him. "I was your surgeon. I'm supposed to check up on you. It's called post-op," she told him with a roll of her eyes.

Jeremy smacked his lips, calling her bluff. "Bullshit."

"Okay, damn, Jeremy!" she huffed in annoyance. "I was in the neighborhood and stopped by. Is that what you want to hear?" she asked him.

Jeremy chuckled with a shake of his head. "I actually thought you were gonna say Britain sent you. That would have saved your pride a bit more," he teased her.

Seven rolled her eyes at him. "Stopping here wasn’t my intention.” She slid her ring off her finger so she could put the gloves on without tearing the latex.

"Alright, Seven. If you say so," he slyly shrugged her off as he pulled his shirt off. The tattoos that inked his body caught Seven's attention. Her eyes scanned his upper chest, pinpointing the tattoo she used to adore. Resting right by his heart was a portrait of her face. Memories of the day he surprised her with it rushed to her head. The reaction he got from her definitely wasn't expected. Instead of being happy and thrilled about it, she spent the entire week scolding him for the decision of permanently inking her on his skin—her entire face at that. She could remember him nonchalantly brushing her off, claiming that it was just ink and skin, nothing too serious. As time went on, she had fallen in love with it.

"You kept that," Seven murmured as her finger graced the portrait.

Jeremy's eyes trailed down to the tattoo, realizing that she was talking about the portrait dedicated to her. He had forgotten that he even had it. "Yeah," he cleared his throat. "It's a nice piece."

Seven nodded her head, agreeing with him. She was years younger on the tattoo, but she still managed to look the same. Same smile. Same eyes. Same wild curly hair. He observed her as she bit down on her bottom lip lightly, contemplating something. She finally decided to just do whatever had her in such deep thought. Seven slid her foot out of her designer sandal, setting it right onto his lap.

Aware of what she was trying to accomplish, he proceeded to roll up the pant leg of her jeans, showcasing the medium sized tattoo that inked the space above her ankle. Slowly, Jeremy traced his thumb over the serif font that read, "JPD." Jeremy Pharaoh Demings.

"I can't believe you convinced me to get this shit," Seven laughed as she sat her foot back down into her sandal.

Remy laughed as he remembered her yelping in pain and barely sitting still for the tattoo. "You convinced yourself." Jeremy shook his head, still in laughter. "I told you the gesture didn't have to be reciprocated."

Seven sighed. "I had to. That's the least I could do. You walk around with my face all day," she said and shrugged her shoulders.

In silence, Seven proceeded to peel the used and thinned out bandages and gauze off Jeremy's skin so she could replace them. The entire time, Jeremy didn't even worry about the fact that if she made one wrong movement, she would hurt his wound. He just continued to admire her as she screwed her face up in deep concentration.

"When's the last time you changed these, Jeremy?" she asked in a light and concerned voice as she trashed the blood-soaked gauze and bandage.

Remy let out an exasperated sigh. "Yesterday," he admitted. "Britain did."

Seven shot him a stale expression. "Three times a day, Jeremy. I'm serious," she scolded him. "These were sitting too long. You could have gotten an infection."

"Alright, Seven. Three times a day." He nodded in confirmation as she continued to change the dressing of his incision to allow it to drain safely. Once she was finished, she trashed all the plastic from the fresh packages of Band-Aids and gauze.

Jeremy looked down at his abdomen, and the sight of the fresh bandages brought him relief. "All done," she announced as she freed her hands from the gloves. Proceeding to slide her diamond ring back onto her finger, Seven caught Jeremy'sgaze on her, which immediately made her divert her attention elsewhere.

"‘Preciate it," he thanked her, expressing his gratitude.

"It's closing up fine. Just make sure you keep taking those meds and changing the bandages," she told him, preparing to exit the bathroom.

Jeremy stood up behind her, following her out. She turned around, not expecting him to be so close to her. Due to her lack of height compared to him, she was met with the sight of his toned chest. It took a moment for her to pull her eyes from his fit and toned physique before averting them up to his face. Clearing her throat, Seven pursed her lips into a tight-lipped smile. "I'm gonna go."

"Coffee," Jeremy stated.

She screwed her face up in confusion. "What?" she asked, oblivious to what he was referring to.

"Have some coffee," he offered with a light charismatic smile. "You still addicted to coffee?" He recalled her caffeine addiction that he enabled to help her stay up all night with him and then still have the energy to head to her morning class. She would usually crash around the middle of the day, which was okay with her because Jeremy would pick her up from campus and let her sleep as late as she wanted.

Awaiting her response, he bypassed her, heading up the stairs. The questions finally registering in her mind caused a light laugh to slip from her lips. "I still enjoy coffee, but I manage my intake better than I use to!" she called out after her him, remaining downstairs since she wasn't sure what exactly he was doing up there.

Remy trotted down the steps, now dressed in a clean white tee that replaced the one that had gotten stained with his blood. The contrast of the nicely fitting tee against his smooth umber brown skin and his gold chain was pleasing to her eyes.

"Good," he said. "Britain got me this fancy fucking coffee maker that I don't know how to use for Father's Day. You’ll probably have better luck at it than I do."