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Connor is 17 years old in this

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BE-click

Connor opened his eyes at the sound of his alarm clock before turning it off. As he sat up in bed, a small cough escaped his lips. Connor didn't think much about it but as he got dressed for the day, he began to cough more.

"I hope I'm not sick," he said aloud, his voice hoarse.

His eyes widen.

"Great, my voice is hoarse," said Connor, sighing a little. "Dad will know something's up."

Connor continued to get ready for school. Then, after he was done brushing his teeth, he went downstairs to the kitchen.

"Good morning," said Haytham, Connor's dad, not looking up from his paper. "Sleep well?"

Connor shrugged and made a 'meh' noise while he grabbed a bowl and a box of cereal. Connor went over to the fridge and was about to grab the milk carton when he gave off a small cough. That got Haytham's attention.

"You alright lad?" Haytham asked, concern in his voice.

Connor nodded as he poured the milk into the bowl and walked over to the table. Haytham raised an eyebrow.

"Something must be wrong," he said, looking at his son. "You haven't spoken a word to me at all this morning."

"I'm fine dad," said Connor.

His father noticed his voice was hoarse. He frowned.

"You don't sound fine," said Haytham.

Haytham reached over and placed the back of his hand onto Connor's forehead, taking note of his son's lack of resistance. He frowned again.

"You're burning up," said Haytham, removing his hand. "Go back upstairs and change and then get back into bed. I'll be up in a bit."

"But dad..." Connor started.

"Now Connor," said Haytham firmly.

Connor sighed but went upstairs. He changed into a white T-shirt and light blue pajama bottoms. Then, he sat down on his bed. A minute or two later, Haytham entered. He was carrying a thermometer and a bottle of medicine. He sighed when he saw Connor sitting on his bed instead of in it.

"I thought I said to get into bed," he said, putting down the stuff he was carrying on Connor's bedside table, "not sit on it."

"I don't need to be in bed," said Connor, watching his father pick up the thermometer and turning it on. "I'm not sick."

"That's for the thermometer to decide," said Haytham, putting the thermometer near Connor's mouth. "Now open up."

Connor pouted but aloud Haytham to stick the thermometer under his tongue. They waited for a bit before the thermometer went off. Haytham took it out of Connor's mouth and looked at it.

"Hmm," said Haytham, shaking the thermometer.

"What does it say?" Connor asked as Haytham picked up the bottle of medicine and poured some of the contents into the plastic cup.

"38.5°C," he answered, handing the cup of medicine to Connor.

"That's not very high," Connor mumbled, taking the cup.

"It's high enough to keep you home from school today," said Haytham. "Now, take your medicine."

Connor looked at the cup of medicine. Making a disgusted face, Connor downs the medicine. Then he gave Haytham the cup, who put it back on the bottle. Then, Haytham got Connor to lay down.

"Now, get some rest," said Haytham, pulling the covers over Connor.

He hoped his son would be compliant but that went down the drain when the 17 year old sat up quickly to protest.

"I'm not tired, dad," said Connor. "Can't I just read?"

"Maybe later," said Haytham, getting Connor to lay back down. "I want you to rest for bit."

"But I'm not tired," protested Connor.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, you're sick and you need to get some rest," said Haytham, stumbling over Connor's real name a bit, pulling the covers back over his son.

"But..." Connor tried again.

"Rest," said Haytham firmly but gently.

Then, he left Connor's room.