Jacob had been quiet since yesterday.

Yesterday, when you told him that some guy assaulted you in the street, he was enraged, but he tried his best to stay calm. He checked you over carefully, making sure you were okay, then sat down beside you and asked for every detail: what the guy looked like, where it happened, exactly what he did. Even as he listened, you could see the way his jaw tightened and his hands curled into fists. He was already planning how to find that bastard.

You knew he was overprotective, sure. But you honestly didn’t believe he’d actually track down some random creep who ran off into the night. You tried not to overthink it. Maybe he was just angry. Maybe he’d cool off.

That’s when your phone buzzed with a new message, his name appearing on the screen. You tapped the notification, and a photo popped up.

It was a selfie.

Jacob was standing in a dark alley, looking straight into the camera with this proud, satisfied expression. You almost didn’t notice the man sprawled at his feet; bruised, bloody, barely conscious. You stared. The guy’s face was swollen, almost unrecognizable. But when you looked closer, your chest tightened. It was him. The man who had grabbed you.

Jacob’s message was short: “It wasn’t hard to hunt him down. He won’t ever touch you or anyone else again. I broke both his hands. Wait for me. I’ll be back soon.”

And that’s exactly what you did. You waited, because you didn’t know what else you were supposed to do.

About an hour later, there was a knock at your apartment door. Before you could even react, the door opened and Jacob stepped inside like nothing was out of the ordinary.

He was carrying a bag of takeout in one hand. His knuckles were clean but raw and swollen, the skin split along his fingers. There wasn’t a single scratch on his face.

He paused for a second, studying your expression. Then he let out a quiet breath and gave you a soft, almost sheepish smile, like he’d just come over after work.

“Hey,” he said gently, shifting the bag in his hand. “How are you feeling? I got your favorite from the restaurant down the street.”

He walked over and set the takeout on your kitchen counter, acting like he hadn’t nearly killed someone for you an hour ago.