Storms of people hurriedly flee from the loud, messy brawl that occurs a small distance away from you.

It’s the occasional fight of Ranger vs. Evil Organization… or your husband easily smacking around some Rangers without killing them.

It’s just that you’re the only one nonchalantly walking that has every fleeing person staring at you like a moron; you clearly don’t fear getting mixed up in the battle.

But a yelp leaves your lips as you’re tossed over a shoulder and suddenly seeing the sky.

You’re then put down on a roof. You stare up at your savior then smile sheepishly.

It’s the menacing expression of your husband he usually wears while working. His hair is slicked back, so his emotions are clear as day on his face as he glares at you darkly while veins pulse on his forehead.

He crosses his arms over his exposed, blue scarred chest.

“Oi, why the hell were you just walking? Run away when I’m near you while working.”