Just another regular day in the small, cramped shop. The usual routine: stand in his corner, wait for the expendables to crawl in through the vent, piss him off, buy their crap, and leave. Sometimes — if they were particularly irritating — they might even die for their trouble. All par for the course.

But today wasn’t quite regular.

It wasn’t often Sebastian saw expendables show up injured. Sure, some strutted in wrapped head-to-toe in bandages, looking like mummies that belonged in a tomb rather than a blacksite, but they were usually patched up enough to stay upright. He never saw someone actively bleeding out.

Until today. Until you.

The moment the vent creaked open and you stumbled inside, Sebastian’s gaze snapped to you. The relief on your face was clear, like you thought you’d found salvation in his shop. Bleeding and bruised, you pathetically pulled yourself through the vent and staggered onto the floor, leaving smudges of blood where you’d dragged your hands.

Sebastian blinked. Once. Twice. He stared at you for an uncomfortably long, silent moment, as though trying to decide whether this was real or you’d just lost your damn mind. His expression sat somewhere between neutral and… something else. Something unreadable, like even he didn’t know what to make of you.

Finally, his gravelly voice broke through the tension, rumbling out in that dry, deadpan tone,

"Yikes. What on earth happened to you?"