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You marched near the back of the group, your boots crunching on loose gravel, cloak pulled tight to hide the tremor in your step. The rest of your comrades were a determined bunch, their faces focused as they pushed deeper into the continent.
And you were one of them, a fierce fighter with a stubborn streak, but lately, you’d caught the eye of Verso, the immortal who’d joined your group to guide you through the perils.
He’d taken a particular interest in you, always hovering nearby during fights, making sure that you were always warm, fed, and content with the funny stories he told you during your late-night talks.
You didn’t mind the attention; if anything, it stirred something warm in your chest, a feeling that, even though you hadn’t had time to name, it gently embraced your heart and made reality more bearable.
However, slowing down the expedition was your biggest concern. Though you wouldn’t mind if it were for your team, you didn’t wish to be a weight to them yourself. Even one or two days was too much time to waste. You remembered your colleagues who had almost made it, only to be separated with the ultimate victory in the very last moment.
No, this wouldn’t happen with you.
We always keep moving forward.
Which was why you hadn’t told anyone about the injury. It had happened earlier that day, during a brutal skirmish with a pack of Nevrons.
You’d taken one down, but not before its claw raked across your thigh, leaving a deep, bloody gash. The pain was sharp, radiating with every step, but you’d gritted your teeth, torn a strip from your undershirt, and wrapped it tightly around your leg.
You’d waved off Lune’s concern with a forced grin—“Just a scratch!”—and kept moving, determined to prove you could keep up.
But Verso wasn’t blind. He’d been watching you all day, his eyes narrowing every time you lagged behind or winced when you thought no one was looking.
Now, as the group paused to rest in a small alcove off the path, you leaned against a boulder, trying to catch your breath without drawing attention.
The expeditioners were busy setting up a quick camp—Lune and Maelle discussing the safest route, Sciel scouting the perimeter—but Verso’s focus was entirely on you.
“You’re limping,” he stated, his voice low and steady as he approached. His grey eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unyielding. “Don’t even try to deny it.”
He’d studied you too well. And yet, you were still willing to try.
You straightened, forcing a smile, though the movement sent a jolt of pain through your leg. “Limping? Nah, I’m just… pacing myself,” you said, aiming for casual. “You know, taking in the beautiful scenery.”
You knew you were being stubborn and this was a mistake. But the thought of finally putting an end to the gommage worked as a fuel in your body, moving the wheels and giving your strength despite the pain.
Verso didn’t smile back. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence towering, gaze dropping to your leg. “You’ve been ‘pacing yourself’ since the fight this morning,” he pointed out, tone edged with frustration. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” you pushed too quickly, and you cursed yourself for how unconvincing it sounded.
You shifted your weight, trying to hide the way your leg trembled, and flashed him a playful grin.
Okay, one last attempt to play it off.
“You’re so serious all the time, Verso. Maybe you should take a chill pill.” You leaned closer, your voice teasing, hoping to throw him off. “I can make you smile if you let me.”
His expression didn’t soften, though a flicker of something—amusement, maybe—crossed his eyes before it was swallowed again by worry. “You’re hurt, and you’re hiding it. I’m not playing this game.”
Your smile faltered, the pain in your leg flaring as if to mock your attempt at deflection. You turned away, pretending to adjust your cloak, but Verso was faster, his hand catching your arm—not hard, but just enough to stop you. “Show me,” he said, his voice quieter now, a plea wrapped in a command.
“Please.”
Charming fucking bastard.
You sighed, defeated, and you sat on the boulder, wincing as the movement pulled at your wound.
He always managed to find a way to the inner you, the you that had no place in a world like this. Prioritising feelings would be a grave mistake, especially knowing that any attempt to keep the stability would only lead to further destruction.
Verso knew this more than anyone.
And yet, malleable beings that we are, we keep falling into the same loop. Such is the essence of our hearts, rarely escaped.
Verso knelt in front of you, his hands careful as he pushed your cloak aside, revealing the makeshift bandage on your thigh. The cloth was soaked with blood, the gash beneath it deep and angry, and his breath hissed through his teeth at the sight.
“This isn’t ‘nothing,’” he said, his voice low, a mix of anger and hurt that caused your chest to tighten.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
You looked away, guilt settled heavy in your gut. “I didn’t want to worry you,” you admitted.
“I didn’t want you—or anyone—thinking I can’t handle myself. We can’t afford to slow down, not now when we’re so close to her heart.”
He went silent for a moment, his hands still on your thigh, his touch gentle despite the tension in his frame. Then he let out a soft, exasperated laugh, shaking his head.
“You think I’d see you as weak because of this?” he scoffed, his voice softer now, though the worry hadn’t left his eyes.
“You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. But you don’t have to prove it by bleeding out.”
He had a point. You not taking proper care of yourself would only lead to more trouble later. One person less meant lesser chances of making it there.
Your throat tightened, and you blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. “I just… I wanted to be enough,” you whispered. “For the group. For you.”
You were starting to become vulnerable around him, and it wasn’t even about your injury. Maybe it was just in his nature, drawing people in with his gentle demeanour. You were too quick to trust him when he joined you, and even though he hadn’t given you any reason to doubt him, you still wondered if he indeed was like the way he acted.
It would be a shame if not.
His eyes softened, and he reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “You are enough,” he said, his voice raw, a promise woven into the words. “More than enough. And we can’t afford to lose you, not to a Nevron, not to anything.”
The sincerity in his voice completely exposed you, and a tear slipped down your cheek despite your efforts to keep it in. The more time you’d spend with Verso, the more your walls would crumble, revealing your sensitive side, a side that should have remained buried deep.
And that was way worse than an open wound.
He brushed your tear away with his thumb, his touch warm.
“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I know,” he replied, his hand dropping to your leg again, his focus shifting to the wound. He pulled a small pouch from his belt—supplies he always carried, a habit from his immortal years—and began cleaning the gash, his movements careful but sure.
“But you don’t get to play tough at the expense of your own life.”
You winced as he worked, the sting sharp, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.
“You get kind of bossy when you’re worried,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.
“It’s kind of cute, you know. I like it.”
He glanced up, his stormy eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, you thought you’d pierced through because his lips twitched, a hint of a smile breaking through. But then he shook his head, his expression firm again.
After a few moments, he finished bandaging your leg. “There,” he said, tying off the cloth, his fingers lingering on your skin.
“You’ll live. But you’re not fighting until this heals.”
“Verso—”
“No arguments,” he cut in, standing and offering his hand.
“I’ll carry you if I have to.”
You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet, careful of your leg.
“You wouldn’t dare,” you teased, but the thought of him carrying you sent a warmth through you that had absolutely nothing to do with the bandage.
He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes now.
“Try me,” he said, his arm slipping around your waist to steady you. “Now, let’s get you back to the group. And no more heroics, alright?”
You leaned into him, the pain in your leg duller now, overshadowed by the warmth of his presence.
“Fine,” you accepted your fate with a smile tugging at your lips. “But only because you’re so good at playing doctor.”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm, just for you, and as you walked back to the others, his arm around you.
The road ahead felt a little less dangerous, and the twilight a little less cold.