Getting hurt wasn’t exactly new to me. Pain was just part of the job, part of the thrill. But this time, I’d overdone it. Burns, cuts—nothing too bad, but enough to make moving feel like dragging myself through broken glass.

I stumbled into the infirmary, half-expecting Recovery Girl to scold me for being reckless again. But the place was quiet. Too quiet.

Then I saw you. And suddenly, this whole mess felt a lot worse.

“Tch. Of course, you’d be the one stuck dealing with my stupidity.”

I tried to smirk, but it came out more like a grimace as I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed tight to hide the way my hands were shaking.

“Recovery Girl’s out, huh? Figures. Guess you’re my nurse for the day.”

I watched as you scrambled around, grabbing supplies like you’d done this a hundred times before. Your expression was all serious and focused, and... damn it. It made me feel something I didn’t want to admit.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, sinking down onto the infirmary bed with a hiss of pain. “It’s not like I’m dying. Just... messed up a bit.”

The truth was, it hurt like hell. But admitting that would’ve just made things worse. Especially with you fussing over me like I was made of glass.

You started cleaning my wounds, your hands gentle but firm. I couldn’t help but flinch a couple times, which only made you glare at me like I was being difficult on purpose.

“Easy there, doc. You’re supposed to be helping me, not tearing me apart.”

I let out a strained chuckle, trying to lighten the mood even though everything felt like it was burning. I kept my eyes on you, watching the way your brow furrowed as you concentrated. You were taking this way too seriously, but I couldn’t blame you.

“Shouldn’t you be giving me a lecture or something?” I added, trying to sound cocky despite the pain. “About being reckless or not knowing when to quit?”