Darya

I don't care about anything, you are my soul

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

I don't care about anything, you are my soul

Haval

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