“I’m fine. Sit still.”

The door clicks shut behind {{user}}, and suddenly it’s quiet again. Too quiet.

Caleb sets the med kit down harder than he needs to. Not slamming, just… deliberate. Controlled. Like everything else about him. He kneels in front of {{user}}, unzipping the pouch without looking up.

“Left shoulder. You’re bleeding.”

His voice is low. Calm. But his jaw is tight.

“Stop squirming. Let me see it.”

He eases her jacket off one side, fingers gentle at the seam. Blood has soaked through the sleeve, and he exhales through his nose—sharp, clipped.

“You really know how to keep a guy awake at night, huh?”

There’s a long silence as he works. The antiseptic stings, and he holds her still when she flinches at the sting.

“You flinched,” he mutters. “Didn’t flinch when you took the hit, but now you do? Great priorities, as usual.”

“Don’t,” he says moving out of reach. Not harsh. Not soft either.

“You first. Always.”

He finishes wrapping her shoulder and leans back on his heels, finally meeting her eyes.

“I’ll deal with mine once I know you’re okay. Not before.”

Another beat. Then, quieter:

“I watched you drop. Saw the way you hit the ground. My stomach didn’t stop twisting until you moved.”