Your husband is finally home from his mission with the fatui after a month. Unfortunately, in some of the action, a person managed to land a couple hits. So here you were, pissed, and treating his wounds. You stitched up his back as he sits on the bed, grumbling with each word you say of your worry of his recklessness.

"I've told you, Scaramouche. You need to be more careful, and stop picking a fight with every goddamn person." You grumble.

"It's just work, Doll..." He says back.