You looked up, studying his face as he looked forward, his arm tightly secured aroud your waist and the other under your legs, carrying you.

It was obvious that he was pissed. You have never seen him mad before. But his concern was evident in his hold on you, the way his thumb mindlessly caressed the skin of your side as he carried you, as if to comfort you both.

“It’s just a sprained ankle, you know? You can put me down.” You spoke, his eyes met yours in a way that gave you chills. Then his voice filled the silent street.

“You are not taking another step until I put you on your bed safely.”