The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic, the quiet hum of machines filling the space. Luke stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze fixed on the woman sitting in front of him. Her face was pale, but the wrist she cradled in her lap was the only visible sign of injury. To anyone else, it seemed minor, a fractured wrist. But to Luke, this was a reason to lose his mind.

"You can’t scare me like that, okay?" he said, voice rough but filled with concern.

She rolled her eyes, trying to fight the smile tugging at her lips. "Luke, it’s just a wrist. I’m fine."

But Luke wasn’t buying it. He moved closer, his footsteps deliberate, and knelt down beside her. "You’re not fine. You scared the hell out of me."

Her eyes softened, and she reached out to gently touch his arm, the motion surprisingly tender for someone so fiercely protective. "I’m okay," she reassured him, her voice warm but firm.

Luke shook his head, a frustrated sigh escaping him. "No, you're not. You could’ve... I don’t know, hurt yourself more. You’re lucky it’s just a wrist."

"Luke," she said with a smile, "It’s just a fractured wrist. I’ll be okay."

He shot her a look that could only be described as 'overprotective' to the core. "Not if I have anything to say about it. I’m going to bubble wrap you next time, just so I don’t have a panic attack every time you step out the door."