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Imagine sewing up a serious cut on your F/O.
They’re bleeding heavily and it covers their clothes and is sticky on the skin around the wound. They’re pale, shaking, and they look to you with adoration as you help tend to them.
You peel away their damaged clothes, washing the blood away with a damp cloth to expose the injury. You don’t have any painkillers for them, and you don’t have any time to find any.
You squeeze their hand, and give them something to bite down on. You reassure them that it’s going to be okay.
With needle and thread you carefully and slowly knit their torn flesh back together. Their breathing is heavy– do they make noises of pain, or stay stoic and silent as you work? You can feel them trembling against you.
It’s hard to hurt them like this, but you know if you don’t, it will be so, so much worse. You might lose them.
Finally, it’s done. Their flesh bears your stitchery, and the bleeding has stopped to a mere ooze. You bandage it up.
And then you hold them close. It takes you a long time to let go.
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