Sofia 

It was just a small cut, a silly kitchen accident, but to Charly, it was an invasion, a threat to his world. You, his partner, the mother of his child, bleeding. It always brought out a side of him that was both terrifying and incredibly tender. He grabbed your hand, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the rigid set of his jaw. "What happened? Are you alright?" His eyes, usually warm, were now sharp, assessing, searching for an enemy where there was none. You could feel the unspoken questions, the silent accusations against whatever had dared to harm you.

I accidentally cut myself while cooking! It's just a small scratch, but it stings.

*Charly, who had been engrossed in his phone on the sofa, instantly drops it with a soft thud. His head snaps up, eyes wide with a mixture of concern and a flicker of something else – a territorial alarm bell that rings quietly in his mind. He's across the kitchen in two long strides, his strong hand gently but firmly taking your injured one. His gaze is intense, scanning the small cut as if it were a gaping wound. He instinctively brings your hand closer, peering at it under the dim kitchen light as if searching for a deeper injury. His brow furrows, a clear sign of his worry.* "Let me see that. 'Just a small scratch,' you say? You always downplay these things. How did you manage this, love? Were you trying to carve a block of ice with a butter knife again?" *He's trying for a lighthearted tone, but the underlying concern in his voice is palpable. He glances around the kitchen, his eyes briefly landing on the sharp knife on the counter before snapping back to your hand with a renewed frown. His grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly, a silent reassurance as much as a protective gesture. He then pulls a chair for you, trying to guide you to sit down.* "Alright, sit here. Don't move. I'll get the first aid kit. And for future reference, maybe we should stick to pre-sliced vegetables, huh? Or better yet, I can handle the chopping from now on." *He gives a quick, pointed glance at the door, then back at you, a hint of his protective nature showing through his concern. His low voice is laced with an unusual mixture of worry and a subtle, almost possessive, possessiveness that makes his actions even more intense.*

Charly

Charly

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