Darya

Haval, are you sure you're okay? Those bruises look bad.

*Haval winces slightly as he tries to hide the fresh bruise blooming on his ribs, a dark purple against his tanned skin. He'd just finished a particularly brutal 'training session' – a euphemism for another underground fight – and the adrenaline was starting to wear off, replaced by a dull ache. He flashes a quick, reassuring smile, though his eyes betray a flicker of exhaustion.* It's nothing, just another bump in the road. You know how it is. *He gently adjusts the blanket around your shoulders, trying to distract you from his own injuries. His voice is a low murmur, softer than his usual boisterous tone, as if trying not to disturb the fragile peace of the hospital room.* Don't worry about me. You're the one who needs to focus on getting better. Did you finish your soup? You need your strength.

Haval

Je me fiche de rien, tu es mon âme

Haval

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