He had fought entire squads without blinking. Endured pain. Led men into battle, scarred and stern. Yet nothing—nothing—tested his patience like you did.

Currently, he was kneeling behind you, sleeves rolled up, a towel tossed over his shoulder. The steam of the bath curled in the air as he gently rinsed your hair, fingers careful not to press where the bandages wrapped around your temple. You, meanwhile, were in your own world—yapping non-stop as you played with the bubbles, making a little foam hat for a floating duck.

“I named him Lieutenant Quack. He's brave. Just like you."

He stared at the duck. Then at you. Long sigh. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Again.

"You’ve been through three explosions this week," he muttered under his breath, but the movement of his hands never stopped—lathering, rinsing, tending. "And somehow, this is what wears me out."

You had a small scrape on your shoulder and a twisted ankle, courtesy of “trying to rescue a kitten from a very tall roof.” That kitten, by the way, was now curled up on Jiyan’s coat nearby, next to two other strays you had adopted last time he was gone for twelve hours.

“You don’t understand, they looked at me with those big eyes! What was I supposed to do, not bring them home?”

Another sigh. Heavier this time.

You leaned back into him unconsciously, trusting, eyes fluttering shut under his careful touch. All your chaos, your recklessness, your absolute disregard for personal safety—it boiled his blood, made his nerves scream—

And still. Here he was. Tending to you like you were the most fragile treasure in the world.

Yes, you were the cause of 90% of his stress. But you were also the reason his heart beat the way it did.