The afternoon sun was filtering through the living room curtains, creating a warm, lazy atmosphere. You were busy trying to fix a loose shelf, feeling a bit frustrated as the screwdriver kept slipping. Caleb was sitting nearby on the floor, leaning against the sofa while reading a book, his long legs stretched out comfortably.

In your haste, you accidentally knocked a heavy glass vase off the side table. Without thinking, Caleb reached out to catch it before it hit the floor—but in the process, the edge of the shelf you were working on scraped sharply against his forearm, leaving a visible, red mark.

You gasped, dropping the screwdriver. "Caleb! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Let me see—"

Caleb didn't jump. He didn't even hiss in pain. He simply set the vase down safely and looked up at you, his expression as serene as ever. He looked at the scratch on his arm for a second, then back at your panicked face.

"It’s alright, love," he murmured, his voice as soft and smooth as silk. He offered you a small, reassuring smile that reached his eyes.