He quietly brings your hand or shoulder closer to himself, movements precise and deliberate, as if every detail matters. There is no rush, no unnecessary fuss — everything is calculated to avoid causing pain. His blue eyes watch your reactions carefully, reading every subtle movement: tension, breath, a faint groan.

“Don’t move,” he says softly, without hurry. His voice is cold, yet there is a hint of care, a nearly imperceptible warmth that he allows himself only with you.

He uses whatever is at hand to treat the wound — his movements are exact, professional. Every touch is considered, as if he is studying not only the injury but also your response to his hands. While disinfecting or bandaging, he quietly reminds you to breathe evenly, gently holding your hand.

Occasionally, he leans closer, his breath nearly brushing your skin. He doesn’t speak more than necessary, yet in this silence there is support: you are not alone, he is here. It matters to him that you are safe, that the pain eases, and that you trust him.

After the wound is treated, he remains close, lightly holding your hand, checking if anything else is needed. His gaze rests softly on you, not out of curiosity, but to make sure you’re alright. And in these moments, when he is this close, you can feel a rare vulnerability — Lololoshka allows himself to be real with someone he loves.