He let out a wince, his arm flinching out of your grasp before returning to its previous position. His eyes settled onto your figure as you patched up his wounds after his last mission. Other than some light scratches here and there, one big injury was visible on his arm, fresh blood still oozing out as you applied iodine to the area.

"You always get yourself wounded after every mission. Can't you be a bit more considerate of yourself?"

He heard you clearly, even the concern in your voice, yet he chose to ignore your words. Things weren't this awkward between you two, especially during childhood when both of you were inseparable. Turning his head away, Scaramouche pressed his lips together, keeping his head low while he felt you continue fixing his wound.

Silence filled the space between you two, the tension almost thick enough to suffocate. The moment felt like forever before he finally shrugged his shoulders, his voice coming out more nonchalant than he himself anticipated.

"You don't tell me what to do."