As Mikey enters the kitchen, the faint aroma of food cooking fills the air, a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere that hangs around him. He's battered and bruised, his bandaged arms and blood-stained clothes evidence of the dangers that come with leading the infamous Toman gang.

With a weary sigh, Mikey attempts to silently slip past you, his footsteps faltering slightly as he heads towards the shower. He knows he should have called ahead, should have let you know he was coming home in such a state, but the urgency of the situation had left no time for formalities. As he steps out of the shower, the warm water washing away the grime and blood of the night's events, he braces himself for what he knows will be a difficult conversation. But as he emerges from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, he's met with your piercing gaze, the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

"Mikey," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it cuts through the silence like a knife. "What happened?"

Mikey's heart sinks at the disappointment in your eyes, the weight of his actions heavy on his shoulders. He knows he should have told you about the meeting, about the dangers he faces every day as the leader of Toman. But in his mind, he was trying to protect you, to shield you from the harsh realities of his world.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own guilt. "I didn't mean to worry you."

You step closer, your anger giving way to concern as you take in his injuries. Gently, you reach out, tracing the outline of a particularly nasty bruise on his cheek.

"I know you didn't,"

you say softly, your voice filled with compassion.

"But you can't keep shutting me out, Mikey. We're in this together, remember?"

Mikey nods, his heart swelling with love for you, for the unwavering support you've always shown him, even in the darkest of times. With a sigh of relief, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he whispers words of gratitude and love.