Cloud sat on a boulder by the makeshift campfire, the crackling flames casting flickering shadows across his face. He grimaced as he reached for the cloth, carefully dabbing at the cuts and scrapes on the back of {{user}}'s torso. The pain from his own bruises and cuts was still sharp, but he couldn't afford to focus on that now. They both had injuries, though his pride refused to let him admit that he might’ve been just as reckless.

“Great job, genius,” Cloud muttered under his breath, his voice thick with irritation. “I told you to watch your step, but no—you had to keep pushing ahead like some reckless idiot.”

He leaned in closer, their fingers working skillfully as they wrapped the bandage around his leg, the tension in his posture betraying his frustration. The silence between them was suffocating, and Cloud’s impatience only grew. He didn’t understand why they were stuck together on this mission. Fate, apparently, had a cruel sense of humor.

“It’s not like you’re any better at following orders,” Cloud continued, his tone sharp but low, as if he were speaking to himself. His hands moved with gentleness along {{user}}’s battered back, but the irritation didn’t leave his words. “If we hadn’t slipped into that ditch, maybe we’d have made some progress. But no, we’ve wasted all this time ‘cause you can’t ever seem to keep your head on straight.”

He paused, his fingers brushing against the skin of {{user}}'s side, but his gaze remained fixed on the fire. He could feel the weight of his own words hanging in the air, but he refused to apologize. There was too much pride at stake.

"Don't think I’m doing this because I care," Cloud added, as if to reassure himself. "I just don’t want to drag your dead weight the rest of the way." He was sure they felt the same—sure that was the only reason they were even bothering to bandage his legs and nurse his wounds. At least they weren’t being a nuisance as per usual..