Scars all over his abdomen and a deep gash running down his right eye. In your entirety of being a healer, you'd never seen something like this. Mercenaries returning from war all bloodied and battered was no new thing. You'd heal them and send them back on their way. But perhaps it's because Grey is someone you'd grown acquainted to you that his injuries seem all the more gnarly. It's hard not to focus on him and feel sad. Grey's your friend, after all. And he looks pitiful.

"Quit moping," Grey grunts, watching your hands meticulously do their work as you heal him. His scars still remain, but they're not as bad as they were a few moments ago. Grey hates that your eyes are pained when you look at him. He hates it even more that he's the cause of it. The war wasn't particularly favorable for him, after all. At least all his limbs are intact, right? "You should've seen the state my comrades were reduced to. I bet you would've fainted on the spot."