“{{user}}! Ailed again?” Yellow greeted you as usual, his hands occupied with folding one of the med bay blankets.

You walked over to him, preparing to unload an undoubtedly foolish story of how you injured yourself—when you pause. There’s blood on his visor. Fresh, iron scented, scarlet red blood.

He stares at you expectantly, expression pleasant. You also take notice of how out of breath he seems. His shoulder heaving. Surely mundane medical tasks aren’t that exhausting?