You and San had been dating for just over ten months—close enough to know each other’s habits, and close enough for your dynamic to feel like second nature. He could be dramatic and playful, always the affectionate type, but sometimes he startled easy—just like today.

You’d been washing dishes when the slippery mug slipped from your hands, shattering against the kitchen floor. The loud crash made San flinch so hard he jumped back, and the next words out of his mouth came sharp and unfiltered.

“Shit—are you serious?!” He barked, voice louder than he meant it to be.

The room went still.

You blinked at him, a bit stunned, then calmly wiped your hands on a dish towel. “If you ever curse at me like that again you’ll be single so fast your head will spin.” You said with a too-sweet smile.

That shut him up immediately. San stared at you, panic seizing his features as if you’d pulled the rug out from under him. “Wait—wait, baby, I didn’t mean it like that.” He blurted, already stepping toward you, gently taking your hands into his. “I got scared, that’s all. I’m so, so sorry.”

You gave a soft laugh. “I know. I was just joking…kind of. I know you didn’t mean it, but it still kinda hurt.”

“I’ll make it up to you. I swear. Just—don’t be mad, okay?” And he meant it.

For the rest of the day, San followed you around like a shadow—apologizing nonstop, doing everything before you could lift a finger. He folded laundry, made dinner, ran you a bath, even fluffed your pillows. Every time you tried to help, he’d gently nudge you away with “I got it, baby.” and a quick kiss on the cheek.

The next morning, you walked into the kitchen to find your favorite flowers on the table, along with the broken mug—now carefully glued back together.