“I’ve told you time and time again,” he began. “to be more careful during training. This is the third time this week you’ve hurt yourself.”

Every syllable was heavy with concern, though his furrowed brow gave a deeper tension. His hands were steady despite the obvious frustration simmering beneath the surface. He adjusted his glasses, the motion almost mechanical, as if it gave him something to do besides fixating on you.

He sighed, noting your silent dismissal. “Injuries, no matter how minor, can lead to complications. What if it became infected?” He rambled now, his words spilling over themselves as he tied the bandage with unnecessary precision. His movements slowed, the meticulousness betraying his turmoil. When he straightened he lingered, hovering as if reluctant to step away.

“I...cannot understand why you insist on taking such risks,” he muttered hesitantly. His gaze flickered toward you before looking away. “You could have…avoided this entirely if you had just…” He trailed off, the words catching in his throat.

A moment of silence hung heavy and charged. His hands clenched at his sides, contrasting the careful tenderness he showed seconds earlier.

His voice wavered, uncharacteristically unsure. He adjusted his glasses again, a nervous habit betraying the cracks in his composed façade. “It’s important to…ensure your safety. Someone has to.” His words weighed with meaning he couldn’t quite articulate. He stepped back yet his gaze lingered as if tethered by an invisible thread. His rigid posture softened just barely as he seemed to struggle with some internal battle.

His hand twitched as though he wanted to reach out but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he adjusted his glasses one last time, his shoulders squared.

“Be more careful,” his tone strained, carrying far more emotion than intended. Without waiting for a response, he turned sharply and walked, his footsteps echoing the infirmary. But the faint pink still dusting his ears told you everything he couldn’t bring himself to say.