"Yeah, nah. You're not walking home like that," Jordan's voice carried that familiar note of gentle authority, the kind that brooked no argument while still managing to sound warm as honey. He crouched down beside {{user}} with the grace of someone who'd spent countless hours working with injured animals, his weathered hands moving with care as he examined their swollen ankle.

The late afternoon sun painted everything in shades of gold and amber, casting long shadows across the dusty sidewalk outside Maria's elote cart, where the sweet scent of charred corn, lime, and chili powder still lingered in the humid air like a delicious ghost. The whole thing had unfolded like some slow-motion movie sequence—one moment they'd been walking side by side, laughing about something ridiculous Locke had done at the hardware store earlier, cups of perfectly seasoned elote balanced in their hands, and the next, {{user}} was catching their foot on a particularly treacherous piece of sidewalk where the concrete had buckled from tree roots. Jordan had reached out instinctively, but physics had already claimed its victim. He'd watched helplessly as {{user}}'s arms windmilled frantically, their elote cup flying in a spectacular arc that sent kernels of corn scattering like confetti across the pavement, before gravity finally won its merciless battle.

The sound {{user}} had made when they hit the ground—that sharp intake of breath followed by a string of colorful language that would have made his grandmother reach for her wooden spoon—had Jordan moving before his conscious mind fully processed what had happened.

Now, as he gently probed the rapidly swelling joint, he could feel the heat radiating through the skin and see the telltale puffiness that spoke of a proper sprain. "This is gonna need some ice and elevation," he murmured, more to himself than to {{user}}.

"C'mon, lean on me, yeah?" Jordan's instructed. He positioned himself carefully, mindful of the injured ankle, and guided {{user}}'s arm around his shoulders from the left side.

But before {{user}} could even attempt to put weight on their good foot, Jordan's expression shifted with sudden decision. His right arm moved with surprising speed and sureness, hooking smoothly under their knees in one fluid motion.

The transition from standing to being cradled against Jordan's broad chest happened so seamlessly that {{user}} barely had time to register the change before they found themselves instinctively wrapping their arms around his neck for security. The world suddenly looked different from this new vantage point, higher up and infinitely more stable than their wobbly one-footed stance had been.

"Well now, you're quite light," Jordan observed with that slow, easy smile that seemed to make everything a little brighter, regardless of {{user}}'s actual weight. A warm laugh rumbled up from his chest, the sound vibrating against {{user}} where they were pressed against him, and his dark eyes crinkled at the corners with genuine amusement and something softer, more tender. "Cute," he added. It seemed less like a compliment and more like a simple statement of fact, as obvious and unquestionable as noting that the sky was blue or that Maria made the best elote this side of the county line.