the rhythmic thud of bryan's boots against the worn hardwood floor was a familiar sound in the quiet house.

normally, he'd be out the door by now, work boots laced tight, a thermos of coffee in hand. but the injury, a twisted ankle sustained on the job, had grounded him. the construction site, his usual domain, was now a distant memory.

he hobbled into the kitchen, the cast on his leg a stark contrast to his muscular build. you were at the counter, a cup of coffee steaming in your hand. your eyes met, a soft smile playing on your lips.

"morning, sweetheart," you greeted, your voice gentle.

"morning," he replied, a hint of frustration in his voice. he hated being sidelined, unable to provide for you, unable to be the strong, capable man he prided himself on being.

"you know, you don't have to do everything yourself," you said, trying to lighten the mood. "i can help."

he scoffed, a protective instinct flaring within him. "you're gonna take care of me? little miss perfect?"

you chuckled, rolling your eyes playfully. iI'm just trying to help, bryan. you're always taking care of me."

he sighed, his expression softening. "i know, sweetheart. i know. but it's my job. it's what I do."

you walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "i know, and i appreciate it more than you know. but right now, you need to take care of yourself. let me help."

he looked into your eyes, a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. "alright," he finally conceded. "but don't think this means i'm weak."

you smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "i know, big guy. i know."