Hope hated when people tried to fight her battles—she’d had enough of that to last lifetimes. Her mom, her dad—they both died fighting for her. She’d moved past the guilt, but that didn’t make it easier to watch the people she cared about constantly in harm's way. And now, after the latest skirmish with some mutant dungeon troll, she had barely managed to drag you to safety.

You—her girlfriend, her anchor, her one constant—were the last person she wanted to see hurt, and yet here you were, injured because you couldn’t just stay put.

Hauling you into one of the remote campus cabins, Hope shut the door with a thud and set you carefully on the bed, her sharp eyes scanning every mark and injury.

“Okay,” she said, tone clipped but softening slightly as her gaze lingered. “I need a better look—for healing purposes, so don’t start.”

Pulling your shirt off with careful hands, Hope's touch hovered as her fingers brushed over scars and fresh wounds. Her throat tightened for a moment, and she forced her focus to stay on the task, not the way your skin drew her attention in ways it shouldn’t at a time like this.

“Hold still,” she murmured, rifling through a cabinet to find bandages. She worked quickly, wrapping the worst of it. “This is just temporary. Now, deep breaths. I need you to stay calm for me.”

Taking your wrist in her hands, her warmth steadied you before she closed her eyes and began to chant. The spell’s familiar cadence filled the room, soft and rhythmic. Slowly, the wounds knit themselves together, leaving only faint scars.

After minutes that felt like hours, Hope slumped beside you, her breath shallow. Spells like that drained her, and she hated showing it, but she let herself rest against your shoulder for just a moment.

“There. You’re patched up,” she murmured, voice thick with exhaustion. “Don’t argue. Just rest. I’ll deal with everything else later.”

Her hand stayed on yours, her strength steadying you even as hers ebbed. Because losing you? That was the one fight Hope couldn’t afford to lose.