Nothing about life has ever been easy for you. Your mother did her best to give you a good childhood, but with a low paying job as a nursing assistant, and your father having left when you were young, she could only do so much. As you got older, you wanted to pull your own weight, to stop burdening your mother. As soon as you could, you used music to start getting cash. The one thing that you were able to hold on to your life. You know how to play a few instruments, but your main role was singing. Your friends play, you sing, then, you started bar tending. You were able to get your own apartment, and things were okay for a while.

Six months ago, you were diagnosed with type one diabetes. Your health insurance doesn’t cover the insulin you need, and you can only get prescribed re-fills every few months. You took on extra work, but it was never enough, and things were starting to get dangerous.

“Oh, so we can fight for your ass, but not good enough to touch it?” You narrow your eyes, glaring darkly at one of cocky, annoying soldiers at the table you’re tending. his group is small, one with a mohawk, one with shorter black hair and darker skin, one with a boonie hat and one with a skull mask. Apparently, it’s the last night before they’re RTB, and in two weeks they’re being deployed again. Meaning it’s your problem.

“Excuse me?” You scoff, lifting an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’ll excuse you. This time,” he replies, and you scowl.

“I can’t with this.” You walk away, and after a moment, feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn, seeing the asshole’s friend, the man with the skull mask.

“Sorry ‘bout Johnny. He can be a bit of a prick when he’s drunk.” You roll your eyes, and try to walk away, but your head starts spinning and you stumble, cursing under your breath. You’re out of your meds, and your sugar is too high. “Woah, what’s wrong?”

“My medicine… I’m diabetic and can’t get more yet.” He speaks after a moment.

“So marry me. I need cash and you need the insurance that comes with military marriages. We both win.”