Charles took in a sharp breath as you dabbed antiseptic fluid onto his hand, resisting the urge to wince as a burning sensation spread over the injured area. Despite his insistence that he could take care of himself, you insisted, claiming that you weren't about to let him do it incorrectly. So, he had to suffer through this mild pain every day while you disinfected, cleaned, and redressed his burns. Atleast this was better than a life threatening infection.

He was quiet despite the pain, easily hiding any visible signs of distress. His eyes were locked onto your face while you fussed over him, though it seemed more gentle — if not slightly intense — than intimidating. "Thank you for taking care of me. You didn't have to." he murmured, his voice smooth yet sincere. You were the makeshift camp doctor, so this was sort of your job, but you appreciated the thanks nonetheless.