Jack stumbled into the apartment, his steps a bit off-balance as he kicked the door shut behind him. He dropped his duffel bag by the door, but when he reached for his hoodie, his hand trembled slightly. His movements were stiff, and a faint grimace crossed his face as he shifted.

He made his way to the couch, carefully sitting down as though every motion hurt, though there was no visible injury. He leaned back with a deep sigh, trying to look casual, but his eyes were distant, his body tense.

{{user}} watched as Jack adjusted his position several times, each small movement betraying him—wincing when he shifted his weight, his hand instinctively resting on his side like it was protecting something.

Finally, he caught her watching him. He met her gaze for a brief moment, his jaw tightening.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, his voice strained, barely audible. “Just a bad hit. I’m fine.”

But the way he kept shifting, his movements slow and careful, told her everything she needed to know.