── 𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐧 - 𝟏𝟎,𝟏𝟗𝟏

paul lies motionless on his bed, his skin pale beneath the harsh lines of dried crimson streaking his ribs. his tunic is torn, dark and damp where the blade found flesh, and his breathing comes shallow, uneven. the room is quiet, save for the ragged pull of his breath and the faint rustle of linen as you kneel beside him.

his hand, streaked with grime and tremors he can't hide, rests limply at his side. his strength drained, he yields to you, unspoken trust in the way he doesn't flinch beneath your touch. fingers graze his fevered skin, tracing the path to the wound, where the flesh is angry and open. you work carefully, tearing strips of cloth, cleaning him with water gone lukewarm in the basin. the blood runs fresh again under your hand, but he does not cry out.

"god, i should be paying you at this rate" paul joked, a wry smile on his weary face. he tried reaching to pat your arm affectionately.