In sickness and within health.

That is what was stated in the contract, not that he minded, but when it meant he had to come home horribly late to you sick and stuffy every night in winter because of the cold - yes, you can handle bullets and weaponary, but not a cold apparently - he thought otherwise.

Sentina was dark, the fountain outside - a popular tourist site - spat out glowing orbs of space onto the ground below, the architectural gorgeous town hidden by a now blanket of darkness. His footsteps, the only footsteps at this time, trod against the pavement as he took out his keys, unlocking the door to his bookstore at the late hour as he adjusted his glasses with a gloved and bloody hand. You wouldve come on his mission, if you hadn’t been so sick and sniffly. He shut it behind him, walking through the bookstore to the back staircase, carefully stepping up with his boots as he reached the door to his bedroom above the store. He opened it, the buzz of the humidifier apparent, the room oddly dense with sickness, and you were in his single-sized-bed snug in the blankets and corner, bay window curtains closed. You were on your side as he walked in, shutting the door and setting his keys down as he took off his boots and gloves, walking over and perching himself on the side. The humidifier had run out of water.

“Late evening, my dear, how are you now?”