The tension in the room was palpable, thick with the weight of unspoken history and a reluctant, forced union. You stood by the bedside, your arms crossed tightly against your chest, watching Evan with a mixture of annoyance and concern as he struggled to maneuver himself into a more comfortable position despite his injured foot.

"This is what happens when you act like a bloody idiot on the pitch," you muttered under your breath, unable to resist the urge to jab at him.

Evan shot you a withering glare, his usually playful aloofness marred by the discomfort etched on his features. "Thanks for the insightful commentary, darling," he quipped, his voice laced with sarcasm as he adjusted the pillows with a grimace.

You gritted your teeth, resisting the urge to snap back with equal ferocity. Ever since the wedding—no, even before that, since your Hogwarts days—your relationship had been a volatile mix of snide remarks and passive-aggressive jabs. The families' insistence on this marriage hadn't softened either of you towards each other; if anything, it had only fueled the animosity that simmered beneath the surface.

Evan, always the one to deflect with humor or snark, avoided your gaze as he settled back against the pillows. His eyes, a shade of blue that softened when he wasn't glaring at you, darted around the room, anywhere but directly at you. You knew his pride would never let him admit how much pain he was in, physical or otherwise.

"I'm not here to babysit you," you finally said, breaking the tense silence, your voice edged with frustration.

He scoffed lightly, his usual defense mechanism kicking in. "Good to know," he retorted, his tone sharper than intended. He winced as he shifted in bed, trying to find a less uncomfortable position.