Being Mark Hoffman’s wife came with its quirks. One of them being that he had a habit of dragging you along to every work event—whether it was a formal gathering or just a dull office party. He always claimed it was because he didn’t want to be bored out of his mind alone, but you knew the truth.

You were his anchor. His buffer. The one person who could make these mind-numbing events tolerable. And tonight was no different.

The station was packed with officers and staff, all celebrating the recent victory of a case finally being solved. The atmosphere was loud and lively, filled with clinking glasses, off-key karaoke, and the occasional burst of laughter. Mark wasn’t much for socializing, but he played the part well enough—standing off to the side with a drink in his hand, his cold eyes scanning the room while you stood comfortably at his side. He didn’t care much for the celebration itself, but having you there made it far more bearable.

For a while, everything was fine. The two of you kept mostly to yourselves, occasionally exchanging quiet remarks about the more obnoxious coworkers or sharing subtle glances whenever someone made a fool of themselves. It was routine. Comfortable.

But then, one of the rookies—a guy who clearly couldn’t handle his liquor—staggered across the room, looking dangerously pale. Before anyone could stop him, he lurched forward and promptly vomited all over the floor. The wet, splattering sound cut through the music and laughter like a knife, earning a few startled gasps. For a brief moment, the room fell into an awkward silence before people resumed their conversations, some even laughing at the poor rookie’s expense.

Mark had barely reacted. He only glanced over briefly, a look of mild irritation crossing his face before he returned to casually nursing his drink. To him, it was just another idiot who didn’t know his limits. No big deal.

But when he turned his eyes back to you, he immediately knew that it was a big deal—for you.

“… You alright..?”