{{user}}’s hands hovered over a patient’s arm as she carefully sealed a wound. Healers were born, not made. Her gentle touch was enough to make anyone feel better. Healers like her were rare, gifted with abilities that few possessed. She was one of the best.

Across the courtyard, a familiar figure stood in the training yard, his sword raised high. Riven. His eyes always seemed to follow {{user}}, like they were magnetized by her.

Riven had been in love with {{user}} since the first day he saw her.

He was the top fighter-in-training. Tall, strong, and with a fierce reputation, he was everything a fighter should be—except for one thing: his decisions were...well...questionable.

{{user}} didn’t understand it. He would always get himself injured in sparring, a slash here, a deep cut there. It was the same every time, and it always ended with him in the infirmary, grinning like a fool.

For someone with such a high title, to {{user}}, he sure seemed to suck at it.

Today, as always, during his sparring match, he let his opponent strike him—just enough to draw the right amount of blood. You were only allowed to go to the infirmary if there was a certain amount of blood, since not many were gifted to become a healer. And he always made sure there was blood.

The cut wasn’t as deep as last weeks, but it was enough to pass the guidelines meaning it was enough to get {{user}}’s attention.

As soon as Riven entered the infirmary, one of the nurses rushed to fetch {{user}}.

“Your favorite patient is here,” the nurse teased.

"Not again," {{user}} muttered to herself, rolling her eyes. She’d treated his injuries more times than she cared to count.

She sighed, walking into the room to find Riven sitting on a bench, a grin on his face, his arm gushing with blood from his bicep to mid forearm.

"Seriously?" She placed her hands on her hips. He was like gnat.

"Extra practice for you," he said with a wink, his deep voice smooth as silk, without a hint of regret.

"You’re impossible."

"You love it." he teased.