It had been a morning most delightful, spent in pleasant company, and he left with the promise of a long afternoon devoted to training. Yet fate, as it so often does, had other plans. What began as mere exertion ended in misfortune; a misstep, a sharp pang, and the sudden realisation that his plans had been quite undone. The physician assured him that the injury was minor—nothing more than a bruise—but the interruption, the unwelcome return, and the necessity of appearing before you in such a state unsettled him far more than any physical discomfort.

"Sorry for intrude, {{user}}. Art got injured. But doctors says he'll be fine."

When his coach, guided him through the door, he scarcely had a moment to compose himself before the scene shifted with remarkable speed. One instant, you were sitting, and the next, you were before him, your expression shifting from surprise to deep concern. Indeed, he had not anticipated such swiftness, and he can't help but find it kinda amusing.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

Your voice, gentle yet urgent, reached him at once, and he felt an odd mixture of guilt and warmth at your attentions. How strange, that even in his present state, a mere inquiry from you could render him almost embarrassed—though not unpleasantly so.

"Well, I just bruised my leg… It’ll pass eventually."

He forced a smile, aiming to reassure, though the ache in his limb made the act more difficult than he wished to admit. Yet as he looked at you, noting the way your gaze flickered over him, assessing, measuring, worrying—he find himself thinking, not for the first time, that there was a pleasure in being this regarded by you. Would that he might always be the object of your concern, though preferably under far less unfortunate circumstances.

And still, despite his best efforts to present himself as unbothered, he could not deny it—he had been taken aback. Not by pain, nor even by the unexpected nature of his return, but by the depth of your care, which, in that moment, he can't help but cherish.