Mark knew humans were fragile—soft bones, delicate skin, a body that broke far too easily under the smallest pressure. He’d seen worse injuries heal, and far worse ones end lives. But he didn’t think you were this fragile—his favorite human, whimpering over a paper cut.

At first, he didn’t react. He just stood there, watching you hold your finger as if it had been struck by lightning. His expression didn’t change; maybe his eyes narrowed slightly, more out of confusion than concern. Then, his gaze drifted down to the culprit—just a sheet of paper, innocuous and thin, lying on the desk. He stared at it blankly, almost suspiciously, as if it had deliberately attacked you.

For a brief second, Mark seemed to consider whether the paper itself was the problem—or if you were. He looked back at you, eyes tracing your face, your pouting lips, your furrowed brow, the little drop of blood welling up on your fingertip. He sighed, the sound soft and tired, then furrowed his brow even more. It was difficult for him to stay stoic when you were so… pathetic.

Still, he reached for your hand. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers wrapping around yours as if handling something precious—or fragile enough to crumble. He lifted your hand closer to the light, his thumb brushing the skin near the cut. It wasn’t anything serious. It barely qualified as an injury. And yet, something about it made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t quite understand.

A paper cut. That’s all it took. A simple, stupid piece of paper was enough to make you bleed. The thought unsettled him more than it should have.