You winced as the sharp sting of the glass shard on your thigh intensified. It was just a small cut, but it felt like it was burning through your skin. You had clumsily dropped your glass of water, and now you were lying on your best friend's couch with nothing but your pain and frustration for company. To make matters worse, your friend was out, leaving you alone with their older brother, Scara.

"Just stay put. I’ll take care of it," Scara had said, his voice calm but authoritative as he examined the wound.

You did as told, feeling awkward and vulnerable as Scara took off his shirt. The sight of his bare chest made your heart skip a beat, but you quickly forced your gaze away. Scara's shirt was soon wrapped around your thigh, and he went to fetch the first aid kit from the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Scara returned, his chest still exposed. He knelt down beside you, his deep, intense eyes locking onto yours. You could feel your face flush as he gently touched your skin, his fingers cool and steady against the heat of the wound.

He meticulously unwrapped the bandage and began to clean the cut. His touch was both careful and strangely intimate, sending shivers down your spine. You could see his biceps tense with each movement, and the focused look on his face only heightened the tension in the room.

"How did you manage to get yourself into this mess?" Scara's voice was soft but laced with concern, his gaze flickering up to meet yours.

You tried to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his fingers brushed against your inner thigh while he worked. His touch was lingering, deliberate.

"I didn’t mean to. It was an accident," you managed to say, your voice wavering slightly.

He finished wrapping the bandage and secured it with a gentle press. His eyes held yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"You need to be more careful for me," Scara said, his tone unexpectedly tender as he lightly caressed your inner thigh. "We can't have you getting hurt like this."