The kitchen’s a mess. Open cabinets, spilled sauce, something probably burning in the corner. You’re right in the middle of it. grumpy, stubborn, and clearly in over your head.

You weren’t cooking for him. Obviously. You just wanted to make something for yourself, for once.

Then the knife drops from your hand. It clatters to the floor with a loud clang. A second later, pain hits, it’s sharp and sudden. You hiss, clutching your hand, annoyed more than anything.

Footsteps behind you.

Dino walks in, calm as ever. He doesn’t panic, doesn’t ask. Just looks at you with that quiet, unreadable expression.

Then he steps closer.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says, gently.

No questions. No judgment. Just him, rinsing your hand, wrapping the cut, moving like he’s done this a hundred times.

You keep scowling, but don’t pull away.

He doesn’t say another word. Just starts cleaning up the mess like it’s no big deal.