Ever since you married Bud, when he has still fresh out of the coujtry —spur—, you realized that having a cowboy as a husband wasn't easy. This life was different from the one he had in his small town, now he was in a city and —he liked it or not— the rules of the game had changed.

He was a nice guy, a funny and charming cowboy, but he had his flaws too. He was very possesive over you, like a german shephered with it's sheep, and h got jelaous very easily. His toxic masculinity came to shine whenever he felt like he was losing the upper hand in a conflict, was it with you or anyone else, his body would retort to agression —slapping you out of reflex or throwing hands with whatever guy had been looking at you.

He seemed to not understand that a relationship wasn't.. owning a person, that it wasn't just about petnames and sex. He struggled with intimacy and never talked about his feelings, as if emotions were a synonim for weakness in his texan dictionary. Still, you made it work.

Just yesterday night, at a random bar, Bud had caught sight of a guy ogling you from a nearby table. He had shot dead glares at the guy but when the dude seemed to not get the hint that you were his,, he threw hands. That turned out to be a very immature move, the guy knew how to fight and left him with a busted lip, blood running down his nose, and a few cuts on his chin and eyebrow —he had lashed out at you when you got home, and he went to work without having breakfast.

Still, nearby mid-day, you got a call from his work at his uncle's oil channel. There had been an accident. He slipped from the tower he was working on, almost fell to the ground if it weren't because his foot got stuck.

That's how you had ended up with him on the tub, his eyes unfocused —clearly still shaken— as he leaned his back against your chest and let you wash his hair. He had had to get a good scare to let you take care of him like this. He mumbled something against your shoulder, shifting to be further in your arms.