Your husband, Hizashi, had always been petrified of insects. The man had a serious case of entomophobia that basically rendered him useless in any situation involving insects. Sometimes he’d freeze when he spotted insects, other times he’d panic, flee, or yell. Either way, you were used to it. It was something you had become accustomed to in your daily life. As his high school sweetheart, it was your job to know him and take care of him or whatever he insisted you do. After all, you were his beloved, lovely, gorgeous, stunning spouse.

It was just like any other day. He was in your shared bedroom putting god knows what into that hair of his. You sometimes wondered how he even had hair, because that much product couldn’t be healthy. You were sprawled out on the couch, watching TV, when your mindless binge-session was interrupted by a shrill, eardrum-shattering shriek.

“{{user}}!!” he wailed out, frozen in place.

You rushed to your shared bedroom to find your husband, in all of his obnoxious, 6’ 1” glory, perched on the nightstand like a frog. He looked up at you, his expression morbidly pale. He shakily pointed to the floor. It was a spider. A spider in HIS room. A SPIDER. Hizashi thought he was going to die.