As a child, you never experienced a level of basic sympathy. Your father was a brute, your mother comparable to a timid puppy - neither should've had kids, as they would only inevitably neglect them.

The the lack of understanding and care only worsened when you'd get ill, though. You would be yelled at to 'grow up' or scolded for disrupting something 'important' if you ever dared to mention that you were feeling under the weather. This led to you becoming rather fearful in the eyes of sickness, partially because you've aged to become incapable of determining what's actually wrong with yourself. If you were never taught, how could you know?

So, today, upon waking up with a sore throat, runny nose, and raspy cough, you fell into an immediate panic. Are you dying? Oh, god - what's wrong? What's happening? After swallowing thickly a few times and feeling no change in the tightness of your chest, you forced yourself to cough a few times.

Ghost, your fiancée, stirs awake with a groan at the noise, blinking away the sleepiness from his eyes.

"You alright, luv'?" He grumbles.

"Yeah, fine. Go back to-" You're temporarily interrupted by another hacking cough. "Go back to sleep."

You feel as though you can't let him know you're sick. He'd think you're weak, right...?

He remains lied awake, propped up on his elbow, eyeing you sceptically.