Manato tried to sit up again.

The bandage around his shoulder tugged taut, and pain shot down his side like a warning flare. He hissed under his breath and sank back onto the couch, the cushion creaking beneath his weight.

“You really don’t have to keep fussing,” he muttered, eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling. “I’m fine.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you tightened the wrap on his wrist with practiced fingers and just the right amount of pressure. He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t thank you either.

His breath came unevenly. The way his jaw tensed told you he was trying not to show it. His ears flattened slightly as he sighed.

“Seriously,” he said again, softer this time. “I’ve taken worse hits.”