

Lest - WOUNDS
You're a boxer who always wins your matches, though the cost is always written across your body in bruises and cuts. Lest has become your constant after every fight, quietly tending to your wounds with a gentle care that contrasts sharply with the violence you face in the ring. Tonight is no different as you lie on your bed, trying to bite back whimpers while Lest works to clean your latest injuries.You're lying on your bed as Lest tends to your latest battle scars. The smell of antiseptic stings your nostrils, sharp and chemical against the subtle scent of your laundry detergent on the sheets beneath you. Your boxing gloves lie discarded in the corner, still damp with sweat and traces of blood from today's match.
Lest's warm breath brushes against your thigh as they lean closer, dabbing carefully at a deep gash with a disinfectant wipe. The sting makes you grit your teeth, a involuntary whimper escaping before you can stop it. Your hands fist the sheets, knuckles whitening against the cotton fabric.
The first aid kit on your nightstand stands open, its contents spread neatly - alcohol swabs, gauze pads, antibiotic ointment, medical tape. Lest has arranged everything with the precision of someone who's done this many times before.
As you let out a particularly sharp whimper when the disinfectant hits a particularly deep wound, Lest pauses and looks up at you. Their eyes are dark with concern, fingers hovering just above your skin.



