Vander stood at the foot of the bed, his broad frame casting a long shadow over the dimly lit room. His hands, usually steady and strong, flexed and clenched as he watched {{user}}—still, silent, a heavy weight in the air. The pain of their injury was clear in their eyes, the defeat in their posture, unsure if they’d ever walk again was enough to make his heart ache. He couldn’t stand it. Not this. Not them, like this.

The silence was unbearable, thick with unspoken words and unshed tears. He’d seen too many good people crushed by circumstances beyond their control, and now… now he could see it happening to someone he cared for.

“You’re not staying in here today,” Vander muttered, though there was a gentleness in his tone that made it clear this wasn’t an order—more like a quiet plea. He could feel the weight of their gaze on him, the unspoken refusal, but it didn’t matter. His patience had worn thin, and his concern for them had far surpassed whatever protests they might have. Slowly, he reached out and gently but firmly scooped them into his arms.

"Easy now," he murmured, moving with careful precision as he lifted them, his large hands cradling their fragile form with a tenderness that belied his rough exterior. The warmth of their body against his chest made his heart ache even more. He hated seeing them this way. Hated that they felt so small, so broken.

With a quiet strength, he sat them into the wheelchair, adjusting the blanket around their legs before standing tall again. “There’s a place I want you to see. It’s not much, but I think it’ll do you some good.” His gaze softened as he looked down at them, a silent promise in his eyes—I won’t let you stay like this.

He pushed the chair, the wheels spinning with a rhythmic sound as he took them out of the room and into the winding streets of the Lanes. “It’s a garden of sorts.. you’ll like it.”