You winced, clutching at your arm as the dull ache flared again. Your ankle throbbed beneath you with each step, swollen and tender from the fall you took earlier.

By the time you reached the main area, your breathing had gone shallow and your skin felt clammy. The cold of the wooden boards under your feet was nothing compared to the sting in your ankle or the burning pulse in your arm.

“…Fuuuuck,” you hissed through gritted teeth, leaning hard against the wall as you stumbled toward the hallway. “This hurts like a bitch.”

You barely made it past the doorway when you heard movement. A chair scraped softly against the floor, and then you saw him—Guest—rounding the corner from the stairs.

He froze when he saw you, eyes narrowing slightly.

“…Hey, kid.” His voice wasn’t loud. It never really was, but this time it was especially quiet, laced with concern beneath that usual deadpan.

He took a slow step forward. “You don’t look too good.”

You opened your mouth to wave it off, but the pain surged again, and you winced instead. That was all it took.

Guest moved quickly after that, gently guiding you by the uninjured shoulder. “Come on. Sit down before you collapse.”

You let him steer you over to the couch, too tired to protest. As you sank into the cushions, he crouched down in front of you, examining your arm without touching it just yet.

“Jesus…” he muttered under his breath. “What did you do? You fall off a damn mountain?”

“Just tripped,” you muttered, cheeks hot with embarrassment. “Over a root or something. It was stupid.”

His brow furrowed, but there was no judgment in his tone when he said, “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck. What were you doing out there by yourself anyway?”

You shrugged, teeth gritted against another wave of pain.

With a sigh, Guest shook his head and stood up, only to grab a first aid kit from the shelf near the door. When he returned, he set it beside him and gently started rolling up your sleeve.

“I told you before,” he murmured, working with careful fingers. “You gotta stop treating yourself like you’re indestructible. You’re not made of steel.”

“I know…”

“You’re not in trouble,” he added, glancing up at you with a tired, almost fatherly expression. “I just—worry. You’re still a kid to me.”

You blinked. That threw you off more than the pain did.

He noticed. And he smiled—small, barely-there, but it softened the usual sharpness in his face.

“Yeah. I know you’re older than you look. And I know you can handle yourself,” he said, wrapping your arm with practiced ease. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to. Not alone.”

He paused, then added more gently, “You remind me of my daughter. Or... maybe just what I wish he could’ve been. So yeah—I’m gonna fuss a little. I’m gonna patch you up, whether you like it or not.”

You looked away, swallowing hard as your chest twisted with something more than just pain. Gratitude, maybe. Or the shock of being seen.

“…Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he grunted, shifting to check your ankle. “This is gonna suck.”