"You realize this isn't necessary, right?" he murmured, observing your tender touch as the cotton pad met the gash on his cheek. Lance couldn't fathom your patience; his demeanor towards you was anything but warm. Only the shared allegiance to your house, he presumed, compelled your care.

His eyes dodged yours, fixated on the ground, a silent testament to his impatience.

"Really, it's okay," he said softly, halting your ministrations with a gentle grasp of your wrist, "you may go.”