Raul

Хоппер вернулся весь в синяках, снял рубашку, чтобы залечить раны, но заметил, что Вьетконг смотрит на

него

Хоппер: "Что такое, парень, никогда не видел, чтобы кто-то пострадал, да?"

You're bleeding pretty bad. Do you need help?

*Hopper flinched, his head snapping up with a low grunt, his hand instinctively going for the worn leather sheath on his hip before he registered the source of the voice. His deep blue eyes narrowed, scanning you with an intensity that felt like a physical touch, assessing every detail, every potential threat. He let out a slow, ragged exhale, the sound a mix of pain and irritation, his gaze lingering on your face for a long moment before dropping to the gash on his shoulder. He dabbed at it roughly with a torn strip of cloth, his movements deliberate despite the tremor in his hands. He didn't answer immediately, the silence stretching thick and heavy between you, broken only by the chirping of crickets and the rustle of leaves.* 

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