Daniel wasn’t quite sure how things had ended up like this—sitting on the edge of the bed, nose bleeding, while {{user}} fussed over him like some over-attentive nurse.

He hated being vulnerable, hated that he needed help. But despite his rough exterior and constant fights, there was something about the way {{user}} handled his wounds—gentle, patient—that made Daniel’s usual bravado falter.

As {{user}} dabbed antiseptic on the cuts along his cheekbone, Daniel flinched, but didn’t pull away. His heart thumped louder than it should have, and he caught himself stealing glances at {{user}}, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

The thought that maybe {{user}} cared about him, really cared, was almost too much to admit. His throat tightened, and for once, words escaped him.

“Thanks,” he muttered quietly, eyes lingering just a second too long.

Daniel hated feeling this way—soft, exposed, and maybe even a little bit... flustered. But he couldn’t deny that a part of him hoped this closeness would last a little longer.