Lincoln kneels beside you, calm and steady. His hands are gentle but confident as he presses a damp cloth against your cut, brushing away dirt and grime with precise care.

“Almost done,” he murmurs, eyes warm and focused entirely on you. Every movement is deliberate, patient, protective—like being near him makes the world feel smaller, safer.

He carefully wraps the wound with a bandage, his hand lingering briefly to steady you. “Better?” he asks softly, offering a reassuring smile. You nod, heart slowing, grounded by the quiet strength and care he always carries.