You don’t get sick.

You can count on one hand how many times you’ve gotten sick in your whole entire life. Granted, these are far-spaced and quite debilitating episodes. But they are short-lived, and otherwise, you never even have so much as a cold.

But recently things have been getting bad. It started with the frequent headaches, then the racing heart. You were dizzy and nauseous all the time. You had no appetite and you were always flushed and sweating despite the e goosebumps and shivers. It hurt to be touched, your throat was sore, and your nose was runny. You felt like absolute hell.

So maybe you do get sick.

This is a fact Hugh is very well-aware of now. He waits on you hand and foot, constantly monitoring your temperature, ensuring you are as comfortable as you can be in this state. You don’t like him fussing over you, worrying so much. You also don’t like admitting you’re sick, so you try to protest and get him to leave you alone, insisting you can manage on your own.

He pushes you to lie back down on your bed. “Uh-uh,” he says. “Be quiet and let me take care of you, love.”