My smile slipped, and I set the glass back down.
"Adrien… your hand."
He followed my gaze and flexed his fingers once, then shrugged like it was nothing.
"I caught it on a drawer," he said easily, without missing a beat.
A drawer.
I gave him a look, but he didn't flinch.
"You should be more careful," I murmured, gently brushing my thumb along his knuckles.
He didn't pull away.
Just watched me in silence as my thumb ghosted over the bruised skin, slow and careful, as if touching him hurt me.
"You always say that," he murmured.
"Because it's always true."
His hand turned slightly under mine—just enough for his fingers to wrap around mine. Gentle. Warm. Still rough from whatever storm he'd walked through to get here.
His eyes were on mine now. Quiet. Intense.
"I'm okay," he said. "You don't need to worry about me."
"I worry anyway."
I meant to sound light, teasing. But the words came out quietly. Honestly.
