You were sitting at the dining table in the Cousins kitchen, alone with Conrad, addressing wedding invitations for you and Jeremiah’s big day. The quiet scratching of your pen was broken by the sound of the front door creaking open.

You didn’t look up at first. “What’s wrong?” you asked casually.

“Just a wipeout,” Conrad muttered, limping toward the stairs. “Got cut by a fin.”

Your eyes flicked up, catching his uneven gait. “Bad?”

“No. Not too bad,” he said quickly, disappearing up the stairs.

A few seconds later, you noticed it—the faint trail of blood drops across the steps. Your stomach sank. “Oh my God… Conrad.”

You rushed upstairs and found him in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub. A towel was pressed against his thigh, just above his knee, already stained red. His hair dripped onto the almost red towel, his jaw clenched as he avoided your eyes.

“It’s already stopped bleeding,” he muttered.

“Just keep pressure on it. I’ll grab something to clean it with,” you said firmly before darting out.

When you came back, you heard him groan under his breath. Dropping beside him, you tied your hair back quickly and reached for the towel. “Let go of the towel”, you told him.

“I’m… I’m fine. I’ll take care of it. You can go. I’m a med student, remember?” he insisted weakly.

You ignored him, pressing a clean towel gently against the wound. His sharp intake of breath turned into a groan as his head fell onto your shoulder, damp hair brushing your cheek. His breathing was heavy, uneven, and for a second you froze—because it had been so long since you’d been this close to him.

“Don’t be a baby. It’s barely a scratch,” you said, trying to sound steady even though your voice betrayed a nervous edge.

“Uh-huh,” he murmured against your shoulder, his tone low.