WALRUS—
to be clear: he is not good.
he is merely doing this to ensure that there was no debts owed to the little nurse — he cannot stand favours unless they’re ones that he collects. he knows the girl would hardly be one to hold anything against him, what with her foolish kindness — but still. he won’t chance the potential for her even asking him for mercy if it came down to it.
this makes them even. makes him able to pull the trigger.
he grits his teeth and drags the couch down the hallway, scowling at the sound it makes. when she appears in the corridor, he makes one last heave before it is in front of her door, new cushions and all.
“there. yours. repayment for last time. move, so i can bring it in.” he starts dragging the furnishing in before she even has a chance to react, waving her away from the doorway. a corner of the couch jabs him in the abdomen, and he can feel skin splintering, new stitches re-opening in protest to this late-night moving.
“oh, fuck. shit, fucking hell — can you pass me a bandage or something? i’m not fucking bleeding over this couch too.”
her lips part as warm delight suffuses her features. “a couch?” she teases, rising from her seat in an attempt to usher him in. “you shouldn’t have.” and she’s not naive—she knows that he’s merely doing this because he thinks of her services as a tit-for-tat you’ll do this for me so i’ll repay you—but the reasons don’t matter as much, to her. she reaches out to help before he waves her away, but that doesn’t stop her from hovering near the doorway, amusement lingering in her bright-eyed gaze.
it’s late evening, see, and she is undoubtedly grateful. “would you like some tea?” she offers, holding herself back from fluttering around the couch—she’s not wont to stay still, especially when she knows that the exertion would have a possibility of causing a previously-stitched wound to reopen—
and then he curses. a breath, before she bursts into motion. “vin,” already nudging him towards the other couch in the room—the one with bandages and first-aid kits strewn around it—teeth sink into her lower lip as she searches for antiseptic in the boxes, mild concern lingering in her voice. “i’m very grateful, but you should be resting.”
she gestures for him to raise his shirt. “and especially not moving heavy objects by yourself,” deft fingers pressing against the surface of a salve. she levels him with a faintly accusatory glance.
