Simon stood in front of you, pulling off his shirt to reveal bandages wrapping most of his torso.

“I can’t believe you were shot,” you practically huffed, concern radiating off you. Yet he brushed it off with a quiet mutter, “I got shot in my bulletproof vest, {{user}}. It’s just a couple bruises. I’m okay.”

You looked irritated—reasonably so—as your husband dismissed your worry without a thought. He started to sit down while you grumbled, “Why don’t they make better vests?”

You were clearly more distressed than he was, rambling as frustration slipped through your tone. “That’s not bulletproof, that’s like when you fall in the pool and your watch stops working. That’s water resistant, not waterproof—”

Before you could even finish, he cut you off. “I… am just fine.”

He reached out, taking your hand and pressing it gently to his chest, right over his heartbeat. “See? It’s just a couple bruises, sweetheart.”

Your face flushed as your hand lingered there. “H… how long do you have to stay taped up like this?” you muttered, glancing between him and his chest.

“I dunno… a couple days maybe?” he replied, sounding almost oblivious.

“Oh. Okay.” You mumbled softly.

He tilted his head, eyes soft. “You okay now?”

“Yeah, I’m relaxed. Hey, if you need someone to help you… uhm…” you trailed off, voice low.