I don't care if it hurts, I wanna have control.

It was no secret you didn't have the best mental state. Being the wife of a warlord always had you worrying for her safety, even though you knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself.

Though of course - you started to blame yourself when she inevitably got injured.

"I'm fine, my dear," She'd assure, over and over, though whenever you saw her, you couldn't think straight - you could've helped her.

Standing out on your balcony, night breeze the only movement, your thoughts were racing, filled with self-doubt and guilt. You heard footsteps behind you and then rough, calloused hands on your waist, contrasting with the fragile way she was holding you.

"Love?" She whispered, her lips brushing against your cheek.