The air still smelled of gunpowder and scorched metal. The turrets were still steaming, silent witnesses to another long night holding off the Hollow Men. Drasa, as usual, seemed to take it all in stride. Sitting back in her chair, she took a long sip of vodka before letting out a small groan. The explosion had caught her, barely, but while she tried to play it off, you weren’t so convinced.

—“It’s nothing, it’s nothing.”—She muttered with a crooked smile as she let you tend to her shoulder.—“You’re always coming to the rescue… my hero.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t look up. Drasa chuckled at your reaction. She squinted her eyes leaning in slightly, playing with the closeness. You didn’t react. Too focused on making sure the wound wouldn’t get infected. Seeing that you weren’t biting, she let out an exaggerated sigh and slumped back into her chair.

—"You’re so boring.”—she declared.—“And you worry too much. I’m not gonna die from this, you know?.”

Her tone was light, but something in her gaze softened. She understood. Lowering her eyes for a moment, she added, quieter:

—“But… I get it. I’d worry too if it were you.”—Drasa sighed, watching you with a lazy smirk before adding playfully.—“When you’re done patching me up… I expect a kiss, doctor.”