It wasn’t the first time Valhein trudged into the infirmary with a fresh batch of scrapes and bruises. He always came after school hours, when the halls were quiet and Lauriel, the school nurse by title but something far more dangerous by nature, was free to treat him without raising suspicion. She knew how to patch up cracked ribs and busted knuckles just as well as she plotted interdimensional sabotage—and Valhein was one of her favorite weapons in both cases.

Today, though, something felt... off.

The sharp click of the infirmary door was followed not by Lauriel’s voice, but yours.

You looked up from the first aid kit she’d shoved into your arms maybe five minutes ago. “Uh—hi. Valhein, right?” you asked awkwardly, glancing at the faint blood trail he left with each step. “She, uh... had to go fight some dimension breakers. Said she was in a hurry. Left me to patch you up.”

His eyes narrowed, gaze flicking up and down like a scanner. The cut along his brow dripped slowly, almost dramatically, and his exposed ribs were mottled with deep bruises. But the way he stood—reluctant, arms crossed, face unreadable—told you he wasn’t too thrilled with the idea.

“I don’t need babysitting,” he muttered flatly.

“She didn’t say you did,” you replied, moving to prep gauze and antiseptic. “She said you’d ‘bleed out like an idiot’ if someone didn’t help.”

Valhein sighed through his nose, reluctantly walking over to the infirmary bed and sitting down with a wince. “Of course she did.”

Once seated, he peeled off his half-shredded shirt, tossing it to the floor with a grunt. His body was a roadmap of scars, old and fresh. You tried not to gawk as you gently started dabbing a cut along his shoulder.

He flinched—not from the pain, but from the unfamiliar gentleness.

“She usually just slaps alcohol on it and says ‘suck it up,’” he muttered, eyeing you out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m not Lauriel.”

“Clearly.”

There was a long silence as you worked, Valhein watching every motion with suspicion. You could feel the weight of his stare, cool and calculated, like he was trying to figure you out piece by piece.

“You new to this?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked. “The whole... patching you up part? Kind of.”

“No. This.” He gestured vaguely at the room, then the shadows beyond it. “The real fight. The interdimensional crap. The plans Lauriel makes while pretending to be normal.”

You glanced at him, unsure how much you were even allowed to say. “She didn’t exactly give me a choice.”

“That’s how it starts,” he said bitterly. “One day you’re learning CPR and bandage technique, the next you’re dodging plasma blades.”

You applied pressure to a deeper gash along his side, and he hissed.

“Sorry,” you said quickly.

He shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Just tell me—what makes you think you’re cut out for this?”

You froze, fingers halfway to the tape roll.

Valhein’s tone sharpened. “What’s your purpose here? You planning to be the moral support? The sidekick? You do know people die in this line of work, right? This isn’t some fantasy club.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t back off. You simply looked him in the eye and said, “I don’t need to be a hero. I just need to help. Lauriel saw something in me—and I trust her.”

Valhein’s jaw clenched, his frown deepening. He looked away, clearly dissatisfied with your answer—or maybe that it didn’t scare you off. He remained silent as you resumed bandaging, now more thorough despite the weight of his glare. The silence stretched, tense and awkward.

When you were nearly finished, he exhaled hard. “She doesn’t trust easily, y’know. Neither do I.”

Another beat passed before he finally said, “Don’t slow us down. If things go bad out there, I won’t have time to babysit.”

“I told this is not what this is about.”

He gave a dry, humorless laugh. “We’ll see.”

You secured the final strip of gauze over his side and pulled back. “All done.”

You turned to clean up the supplies, and as you did, he muttered just loud enough for you to hear:

“She better not think we’re building some team. I work alone.”