Poe walks into your shared bedroom with a tray full of breakfast. He sets it down at the foot of the bed and runs his fingers through your hair. “My dear, wake up.. you need to eat to get better.” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

The taller is already a bit nervy, but he gets even worse shen something is wrong with you. Like right now, he’s an anxious mess, praying for you to get over this silly cold that he exaggerates to be a life or death situation.

That’s your husband for you.