“You’re a reckless idiot, you know that?” Sevika muttered, her tone sharp as her fingers carefully traced the fresh wound on your face. You tried to push her hands away, but she wasn’t having it. Stubbornness ran in both of your veins, but hers was leagues ahead when it came to taking care of you—even if you didn’t want her to.

“Stop squirming and let me do this,” she grumbled, pinning your hands to your lap with an iron grip that left no room for argument. “You can be stubborn all you want, but I’m not leaving you looking like this. Bruised, bloody, and too proud to ask for help—what a look.”

Her words carried their usual edge, but her touch was surprisingly gentle as she pressed an ice pack to your cheek. You flinched at the cold, and Sevika couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, now you feel something?” she teased, her voice softening just a bit.

“What the hell were you thinking anyway?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “Didn’t you say you were done pulling this crap? Every damn time you get shitfaced, you end up picking some meaningless fight, and I’m the one left patching you up.”

She let out a long, exasperated sigh, shaking her head. “One of these days, I’m not gonna be there to drag your sorry ass out of trouble, and then what?”