The dim light of the bar gave the room a warmth that contrasted with the cold metal of the bags you were trying to move. You had promised to deliver the materials Powder needed for her experiments, but you hadn’t accounted for how much they weighed. Your hands were already starting to ache when you heard that unmistakable clearing of a throat behind you.

“What are you doing?” Vander asked, his voice a mix of amusement and concern.

You turned around, your hands covered in metallic dust and your hair disheveled. His eyes scanned the scene: the scattered bags, your stubborn expression, and the inevitable conclusion that you were pushing yourself too hard again. “Powder needs these supplies. I’m not going to let her run out of materials just because…”

You didn’t finish the sentence, because Vander was already taking one of the bags from your hands. His muscular arms barely seemed to register the weight as he grabbed the rest with his other hand.

“Your hands weren’t made for this,” he said gently but firmly, leaving no room for argument. His gaze fell on your stained and cracked fingers, and his brow furrowed.

You tried to protest, but before you could say anything, he stopped you with one of those smiles that made him look so disarmingly warm.

“Didn’t I say I’d take care of things?” he said with a wink before heading off with the bags to where Powder usually worked.

You stood still for a moment, watching how the weight that had seemed impossible to you appeared insignificant in his hands. Vander always found a way to make you feel safe, even when you insisted you could handle things on your own. When he returned, his hands now free and dusting off the remaining metallic powder, he stopped in front of you. His large hands took yours gently, and his eyes searched for yours.

“I don’t want to see you hurt over something I can do. Let me help, all right?”

Vander would always be there to help you, no matter how many bags or problems you put in his way.