"This isn’t necessary. I’ve had worse." Jin grumbled, his voice vaguely edged with irritation. But he wasn't pulling away, he was sitting still on a low wooden stool, his shirt torn and his chest bruised, blood trickling from a shallow cut along his side. He stared out the window with a scowl, refusing to meet the eyes of the person crouched in front of him; a warm-hearted woman, {{user}}—patching him up, delicately. She was a cry from the harsh world Jin was used to, a care he was unused to receive. A care and gentleness he felt undeserving of.

He finally turned his head, his dark eyes narrowing. "You’re wasting your time."

But he’d be lying to himself if he denied the quiet warmth that stirred within him. Though his expression remained stoic, his gaze softened ever so slightly, he wouldn’t dare admit it, not even to himself, but deep down, he was grateful—silently appreciating the way she looked after him with such earnest devotion. It was a sentiment he’d never spoken aloud.