Despite the declared end of the war, he limped back to the hospital regularly, seeking treatment for a persistent injury that refused to heal. Other soldiers who worked under him were confused by his strange actions.

He wasn't the type of person who could be injured easily; as the Grand Master leading an army, his swordsmanship and fighting skills were top-notch. Yet, there he was, sitting quietly in front of you in the nursing room.

His eyes followed every movement you made as you bandaged his broken leg. He had twisted it on his own just to get your attention. Even his eyes were filled with adoration toward you, his lover who had confessed the feelings to him.

"Have you eaten?" he cleared his throat, avoiding direct eye contact as your face came close to his while applying oil to the small cut under his jaw. His heart beat wildly, and it felt like it was suffocating him. Was this what people called love? The word was foreign to him because he hadn't had a lover before, and this was his first time being close to someone.

He curled his hands into fists, resting them politely on his lap. He tried to control his expression as he was known for his poker face and emotionless demeanor.