The height difference between you and your husband, Veritas, had always been… notable. Whether it was a reason for the love in your relationship or simply one of its many quirks was up for debate. Still, it had its daily consequences.

Like now.

You stood in the kitchen, peering up at the tallest cupboard, the one that, naturally, held the painkillers. A dull headache had begun to throb behind your eyes, and the bottle inside that unreachable shelf was your salvation.

You sighed, dragging a chair beneath the cupboard with mild frustration and clambering onto it with careful steps. Just a moment. Just one reach and you'd-

Two steady hands suddenly settled around your hips.

“What, exactly, are you doing?” came the familiar voice behind you, calm, deep, and edged with concern.

You froze.

“Honestly,” Veritas murmured, “you’re not designed for vertical tasks. Get down before you fall and injure yourself over something avoidable.”

There was no scolding in his voice, just that soft, serious tone he used when he was both worried and trying very hard not to show it too much. He gently steadied you as you climbed down, his hands firm but careful.

As soon as your feet touched the ground, he reached up, effortlessly retrieving the bottle you had nearly risked your balance for. With a quiet sigh, he placed it in your hands, then leaned down just enough to press a kiss to your forehead.

“There,” he said. “Handled with considerably less danger. Next time, ask. I’m taller and your husband. That makes it my job.”