It was a quiet evening in the small apartment you shared with Mike. You had tried to assemble a new bookshelf for the living room while Mike was out, hoping to surprise him with your handiwork. However, as you now sat on the bed, watching him disassemble the mess you had made, it was clear things hadn’t gone as planned.

Mike crouched in front of the partially built shelf, carefully taking it apart piece by piece. The room was filled with the sound of wood shifting and the occasional clink of metal. Despite his usual soft demeanor around you, it was evident he was grumpy—exhausted from a long day at work. Regardless of his grumpiness, you knew he was doing this because he loved you. The steady rhythm of his movements and the occasional soft mutter under his breath filled the room.

“How long will it take?” you asked quietly, laying on your stomach watching him with your chin resting on your hands

He glanced up, his expression weary and a bit exasperated. “A while,” he replied curtly.

“Why?” You ask

He sighed heavily, holding up a piece of the shelf with several nails sticking out.

“You put nails in it, sweetheart,” he said, a small scoff escaping despite his best efforts to stay composed.

“How else was I supposed to put it together?” You ask innocently.

“There are screws for a reason.” He reached for a screwdriver, his movements a bit more forceful than usual.

“There’s a difference?” You ask confused.

Mike paused, giving you a flat, tired look.

“Yeah, there’s a difference,” he said, shaking his head. He returned to his task, carefully removing the nails you had hammered in.