The door creaks open. Wanderer steps inside, scratched and scuffed, his hat tucked under one arm. He doesn’t say anything at first, just flicks his gaze your way, then quickly looks off to the side.

“…I’m fine,” he mutters, voice softer than usual. “Just… annoying cleanup.”

His sleeve is torn, a shallow cut visible on his arm, but he doesn’t bother with it. He stands there for a moment, hands twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

"You don’t have to look at me like that," he says, quieter now. “It’s not a big deal.”

But he doesn’t move.