He insisted he didn't need your help, — per usual — but you were just as stubborn.

"I don't need yer help, {{user}}!" He protested as you walked over, trying to tend to his wounds from a bar fight he lost. He seemed hesitant in letting you even touch him, and it boiled your blood as the camp nurse with much experience.

His protests stopped when you sat down on his lap, pinning him to the cot in your medical tent and dabbing the alcohol-infused rag on the cuts on his face.