"Are you sure you're alright?"

Juliet's eyes flutter open, her mascara smeared across the bottom of her eyes, having not bothered to remove her makeup when she'd gotten home. Exhaustion weighs heavily on her after a long day, and her body refuses to cooperate, aching and sore. Not even the promise of takeout (something she could immediately tell had a lot of cheese included) could entice her, instead she had felt her stomach roll at the stench of dinner, ushering Shawn and the bags of food out of their room with her pleas. She had wanted nothing more than to put on her softest pajamas, climb into bed, and sleep until she had to drag herself out from under the warm sheets in the morning.

But she can feel his stare.

"Mmm, fine," she mumbles, her hand moving from underneath the covers to find his with her eyes closed. Reaching around the cool sheets, she ends up finding his shirt first, clenching a fist around the grey material, pulling, successfully bringing herself closer to him.

"Sweetheart, you don't look fine. I mean you always look fine, but…"

"Shawn," she shushes, his shirt tickling her lips as she urges him to stop.

Kissing the top of her head, she thinks maybe he'd gotten the hint, until…

"Lassie's gonna be so surprised tomorrow. I can't believe my dad's actually renting a party bus. That might be the coolest thing he's ever done…" he wonders aloud to himself.

Peeking on eye open, ready to shush him again, she sees the childlike excitement in his eyes, and instead snuggles further into him.

"I'm not looking forward to the bachelorette party," she mutters against him, a slight groan escaping.

"Come on, it'll be fun," and she glares at him from her spot on his chest. "Wow, someone's grumps," he teases in a high pitched voice, but the slight pout coming from her has his hand wrapping around her shoulder, tangling in her curls.

"If you're sick, you shouldn't go," his words getting lost in her hair.

"You know Carlton, he won't take no for an answer. And plus, I don't want to let down Marlowe. I'll go," she scrunches her face at the idea of getting out of bed.

"My little trooper," he chides, kissing the creases of what he affectionately refers to as her 'pug face' until she pinches his side, causing a yelp.

"I need sleep. Please," she murmurs against him, and he settles, nestling against her. It's in that last sigh of contentment that she finds her achy body relaxes, and she knows she's safe. He'd promised to always protect her what feels like forever ago, but she never feels that more than at night when they're snuggled up against one another, his chin resting on her head, fingers gripping each other, her cold feet shoved between his legs, always causing a jump from him, but never a slight, that she knows she is loved. The frequency with which this feeling washes over her only increases now that they live together. It had been a big step, but one that she'd not come to regret.

"Sleep tight, sweet Jules," Shawn hums, the last words she hears as she drifts off to sleep.

Morning seems to come way too quickly. Awaking what feels like only an hour later to the man who has never woken up early in his life, nearly bouncing on their bed with excitement. Literally. Her stomach rolls once again.

"There better be coffee…" she groans, hoping if she consumes enough, she can caffeinate the sick feeling away.

"In the mug," he gestures, pointing to the nightstand, a slight laugh at what she can only imagine is the state of her smudged makeup and disastrous curls. And in that moment, she swears she melts a little, glancing over to see a full cup of coffee awaiting her, because despite not drinking the beverage himself, he always, without fail, has her's made.

"Are you feeling better?"

Gently sitting up, as to not irritate her stomach further, she grabs the mug, the warmth immediately spreading through her at the first sip. Her eyes close, licking her lips of the remnants of liquid gold left behind. However, it's short lived, as she feels much the same as last night. A feeling settling over her that maybe this wasn't mere exhaustion.

"I feel—"

The honking of a truck blares outside, interrupting her thought.

"That's my dad," he chirps, practically skipping over to her, placing a quick kiss on her lips, before nearly tripping over himself. "Have fun today! Go a little crazy, it's Vegas, baby!" He shouts with a quirk of his brow and lip.

"You know it's not actually Vegas…just—"

"Big fat kisses!" And he's out the door before she can even respond back.

"Big fat kisses," she whispers to herself tracing the rim of her cup, moving to get out of bed and attempt to look somewhat presentable for the day ahead.

She stares at herself in the bathroom mirror, just as she suspected, black smudges causing her to look like her boyfriend's foe, and curls sticking up in every direction. A sigh escapes, as she steadies herself on the counter, nausea seeming to take over, but it's soon gone, and she attributes it to standing too quickly.

Making quick work of her face and hair, hoping no one notices the bags she tried to hide underneath her eyes, she throws on a casual purple dress.

The words Vegas, baby! swirling in her head, and she nearly laughs to herself.

"No," she says aloud, looking at her reflection, turning to the side. "Definitely not," she reasons, flattening her hand over her dress. "It can't be…" she wonders.

But the buzz of her phone, letting her know that her own ride was waiting, cuts her off this time, and with one last glance in the mirror, she turns to leave for a weekend that assures to be a memorable one.