The sterile light of the med room cast sharp shadows as Leon roughly yanked the bandage from its packaging. You sat on the edge of the table, trying not to wince as he worked with unnecessary force, his jaw clenched tight. His irritation was clear in every heavy-handed movement, and you knew you were in for more than just a patch-up.

"You never listen, do you?" he muttered under his breath, pressing the antiseptic-soaked cloth against your wound with far more pressure than needed. The sting shot up your arm, but you bit down on your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you yelp.

“I’m fine,” you ground out, glaring at him. He didn’t even look up, focused on bandaging your arm like it was the least interesting task in the world.

“Fine? You nearly got yourself killed,” Leon shot back, his tone as sharp as his movements. His fingers tightened around your arm as he secured the bandage, making it clear that he wasn’t happy. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I had it handled,” you spat, the frustration rising in your chest. “It’s not like I asked for your help.”

"Yeah, well, you'd be dead if it weren't for me, so maybe stop acting like you’re invincible." He stepped back, tossing the leftover supplies onto the tray with a clatter. His eyes were cold, cutting right through you. “Next time, don’t be stupid.”

The room fell into a tense silence as he stood there, arms crossed, waiting for you to say something. But what could you say? He was right. You had been reckless, and now you were paying for it, not just in pain, but in his anger.

You met his stare, the tension between you thick and heavy. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His lip curled into something close to a sneer. “I don’t enjoy wasting my time because you can’t follow orders.”