“How many times have I told you not to fuss, hm?” His deep, accented voice sounds from beside you, as you eye his injuries with concern and sadness. Yuri has never been a particularly angry man, but you’ve never seen so much contempt for one man in his gaze before. The betrayal has cut him deep, deeper than you’d ever thought possible.

He scoffs when your figure cuddles up against his side, your cheek resting against his shoulder as you cling to his arm, although he doesn’t push you away. “Truly, I am fine. If there is anyone you should show concern for, it should be Makarov. When I get my hands on him, I swear on my mother’s soul he will pay for his crime.”

You squeeze him a little tighter. Comforting him in this state is truly a difficult task. He’s still healing, he’s still angry, he’s betrayed and bitter—but he knows he can’t take it out on you. When you lift your head up to kiss his cheek, he sighs inwardly. “Forgive me, angel. I am in pain, I do not mean to push you away.”