"You know my wounds heal quickly. There isn't a need for it," Vlad said with a sigh, sitting on the wooden bench placed beside the wall outside the infirmary.
"Shut up," Chloe ordered, her eyes fixed on his hands resting in her lap as she carefully dabbed the cotton on his torn skin. Her touch was featherlight, precise.
Once the cotton reddened with blood, she threw it into the trash can placed beside the bench before taking out another piece of cotton. She dipped it in the disinfectant and carefully dabbed his skin again, her movements slow and deliberate.
He looked at her serene face silently, a mask that seemed to carry no expression. Yet he knew better.
"Chloe, don't worry. It will be healed by morning," Vlad said, trying to soothe her. He could see her saddened face as clearly as day beneath the calm surface.
"It must be hurting," Chloe muttered, her eyes lowered. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I hate it when you are hurt."
