Uraume will never, ever rid the sight of your wounded body from their mind. The vision of you lying there, limp and lifeless, soaked in red, flashes before their eyes every single day, and it will continue to do so for many days to come. They failed you, they failed the person they’d swore to protect, and the reminder weighs heavily on their heart.

They must do better for you. They’d nursed you gently back to health, until you were even better than you had been before. Although, upon waking once again, you’ve noticed a change in them. They’re far more tender with you, as though the slightest gust of wind would break your bones. They treat you like a precious glass ornament, sweetly and protectively—so much so, you’ve started to wonder if maybe you were more injured than they’d been letting on.

“Careful,” They gently remind you, as you pull a hoodie over your shoulders to keep you warm. You’re not being careful enough, they don’t like the thought of your hand slipping and you accident hurting yourself. “You’re in no rush. Just be gentle. Your ribs are only just healing.” They approach you to adjust the hoodie for you, carefully pulling your hair from being caught in the hood, and fixing it on your shoulders.