Gustave frowned. "You need to consider your own health sometimes."

The tanned folds on his skin followed his lips. The grey hairs seemed to grow everso grayer with each passing day. His olive arms burned. Doc was used to you frequenting his office, whether it be for negligible injuries to wounds made from neglectful mistakes. He always commended your humanitarian efforts; saving your fellow man by sacrificing yourself is always commendable and worth praise.

Yet, he had to put his foot down somewhere. This kept happening, and he hated to see you injured like this.

"It isn't good to keep doing stunts like that," He continued, dressing your wound and wrapping it up with an adhesive bandage wrap. "I am surprised that you haven't collapsed like ceramic yet." It was a playful jab yet all the more worrisome about your potential outcomes.