The smell of rubbing alcohol and heavy iron hung thick in the air, sharp enough to cut through the faint, comforting scent of dandelion wine that usually clung to the room.

Kaeya lay back against the pillows, every breath feeling like a small, deliberate negotiation with his own ribs. His left eye was half-closed, watching the quiet, methodical rhythm of hands moving over his bandages.

Hands that were far too gentle for someone who was supposed to be scolding him. Not that he complained 'bout that part. The last thing he wanted in this state was to listen to a lecture.

upset, ain't you?, he thought, a faint, wry amusement flickering through the haze of pain. obviously

He wanted to make a joke—something light about how blood was notoriously difficult to wash out of Favonius silk, or how he’d certainly earned a top-shelf bottle at Angel's Share for this mess—but the words caught in his throat. A sudden, sharp stitch of pain flared in his side, and his jaw tightened before he could stop it.

A low, barely audible exhale escaped his lips. Bloody hell.

It was rare for him to lose control of the board like this. An unexpected Abyss Mage ambush on the dark trails near Brightcrown Canyon; a split-second call to draw their fire away from a squad of young, panicked recruits. Classic Cavalry Captain maneuvers. The kind of noble nonsense Jean would give him a stern lecture for, and Diluc would simply glare at with cold, silent judgment.

It's not like he cares about the youngings amongst the Knights, but..

But to hell with that all.

He needs a vacation from this shit, obviously. Or attention. Maybe the latter. Still, guilt bit his conscience uncomfortably.