Arden watched him approach, the instinctual tension in his shoulders refusing to fully dissipate even with recognition. He fought the urge to pull away, a primal flinch against vulnerability that had been hammered into him since childhood. To be wounded was one thing. To be tended to while wounded was another entirely. It required stillness. It required trust. Two things Arden had in critically short supply.
The large, gentle hands pushing at the botched bandage made his jaw tighten. The rough drag of cotton against the curse-burn sent a fresh jolt of pain lancing through his side, sharp and acidic. He didn't make a sound, only breathed out sharply through his nose, a controlled release of pressure. Sloppy work. The words settled in the quiet space between them, a strange, backhanded comfort. Praise for the ferocity of the duel, even as he sat broken and bleeding.
His gaze flickered from Everettâs face to the crushed herbs in his massive fingers. A faint, almost bitter amusement touched the corner of his mouth. Sweet. Ish. He could smell the sharp, green scent of crushed stems and something vaguely floral, but underneath it was the unmistakable medicinal tang of potent magic. He knew better than to underestimate anything Everett offered.
For a moment, he hesitated, the stubborn, self-reliant part of him screaming to refuse, to snatch the herbs and handle it himself. This was his pain, his consequence. Heâd earned it. But the throbbing in his ribs was a dull, relentless drumbeat, and the cursed edges of the wound felt like hot, crawling insects beneath his skin. The fight had been brutal. The aftermath was worse.
He tipped his head back slightly, exposing the line of his throat, a gesture of weary concession. His amber-brown eyes, still bright with adrenaline and exhaustion, locked onto Everettâs. There was no surrender in them, but a flicker of something raw and unguarded. Need.
"Fine," he gritted out, the word rough and low. He parted his lips slightly, an invitation that felt more intimate than any kiss. He leaned forward just enough, the motion pulling at the wound and making him wince again, but he held Everettâs gaze as the crushed herbs were brought to his mouth.
The first taste was exactly as promised. A burst of cloying sweetness, like nectar, immediately followed by a bitter, earthy wave that coated his tongue and seemed to sink directly into his bloodstream. It was vile. But as he swallowed, a cool, numbing sensation spread from his chest outward, chasing the worst of the fire in the curse-burn. It didn't heal, but it created a buffer, a pocket of cold clarity in the midst of the pain.
He sank back against the cool tile of the wall, letting out a shuddering breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The rigid line of his shoulders eased by a fraction. He was still bleeding, still cursed, still dangerously exposed. But the immediate, gnawing agony had receded enough for thought to return.
"Always prepared, Professor," Arden murmured, the title laced with a familiar mix of respect and teasing mockery. His voice was quieter now, stripped of its earlier bravado. He watched Everettâs hands, their size and deliberate care set against his own rough, scarred knuckles. "Do you carry a field hospital in that bag for every foolish student who gets themselves gutted, or am I special?"
The question was light, but his eyes weren't. They tracked Everett's every movement, hungry for the answer, for some sign that this concern wasn't just professional obligation. In the dim, flickering light of the mirrors, the bruises on Arden's skin looked like dark continents on a golden map, a landscape of pain that Everett was now the sole surveyor of.
Everett held his breath, hoping the other was wise enough to cooperate. With a sharp exhale through his nose, his shoulders relaxed as Arden leaned closer to receive the pain reliever. His cool blue eyes locked onto the warrior, watching intently as his lips brushed against his fingers. He offered only a faint smile, glad that Arden had accepted his help.
"See?" he murmured. "Better, right?"
Still, the remaining paste clung stubbornly to the pads of his fingers. Without thinking, the giant brought the same digits to his tongue, licking away the excess residue. What became an unintentional kiss shared between the two was only a consequence of Everett not wanting anything to go to waste, especially given how long it had taken to cultivate the herbs.
"I have to be. No sense in everyone here being reckless," Torren retorted with an awkward laugh, his focus returning to the wound site. At first, he gently fixed his hand around the curse. However, as his calloused palm spread across Arden's form, he set it firmly against his skin, almost as if he were holding back the threat from spreading. Though his focus waned momentarily at the question, his features softened as he attempted to answer.
"Well... this habit started when I was a student," he said, unaware of the question's deeper implications. But his honesty carried weight when it mattered. "I wasn't very exciting." The corner of his mouth twitched. "I would spend an eternity building wards, deflecting every attack, and breaking any curse until they were exhausted. Everyone found it aggravating." A deep sigh escaped him as he shrugged, remembering all the nights he was pushed to participate.
"I was more interesting behind the scenes. I would help my friends after their battles," he said before exerting a pulse of warmth from his hand. "Opponents would seek my assistance as well. People who loathed me for what I am." His gaze drifted toward the open satchel overflowing with herbs and potions. "But pain has a funny way of making people less particular about who helps them." His hand shifted, his thumb carefully guiding the curse away from healthy tissue. He winced as the burn made contact with his fingers, then reached for another crushed herb bundle. "Then, after a while, I just start preparing for people who aren't careful."
All of a sudden, the professor took a bite of the mixture, chewed it into a paste, spat a salve into his free hand, then applied it meticulously to the wound. Still, he continued, even with the bitterness in his mouth and the infernal heat on his hands, as though it hardly mattered. "So, no. I didn't bring the bag for you." His other hand finally framed the other side of the wound, creating a cage where he focused his restorative magic. "But I looked for you because I think you're exciting. And that's something special."
