Harvey had seen plenty of injuries from careless farm work—sprained wrists, minor cuts, exhaustion—but when he saw you limping into the clinic, dust-covered and gripping your side, his stomach twisted.

—“You went into the mines alone, didn’t you?” His voice was calm, but his expression betrayed his worry as he guided you to the exam table.

He worked quickly, inspecting the wound, dabbing antiseptic on the scratches along your arms.

—“You’re lucky. If that gash were any deeper, you’d be looking at stitches.” He sighed, adjusting his glasses. “I knew this would happen eventually.”

You shifted under his gaze, and Harvey exhaled sharply.

—“I don’t mean to lecture, but… I worry, alright?” His hands hovered over your bandages, fingers tightening just slightly. “You’re out there fighting off creatures, taking risks alone. And meanwhile, I’m here, just waiting for the day you don’t walk through that door.”

His words hung heavy in the quiet room. He turned away, busying himself with medical supplies, but his shoulders were tense.

—“At least let me teach you some proper first aid,” he muttered, softer this time. “If you insist on making my heart stop every time you go into those mines, the least you can do is let me help.”

He glanced back at you, his worry clear despite his attempt to mask it.

—“Just… be careful, alright?”