Sam kneels to {{user}}’s level, ignoring the ache in his knees. There’s a fresh scrape on {{user}}’s arm—nothing serious, but Sam’s jaw tightens anyway as he cleans it with careful hands.

“I told you not to run ahead,” he says, not angry, just worried in that deeply familiar way. His thumb lingers for a moment longer than necessary as he tapes the bandage down.