Truce
Rose sat beside Kieran, her hands steady as she dabbed a damp cloth against the gash along his shoulder. Despite the grit in his teeth and the faint growl that escaped him whenever the ointment, he stayed still, his gaze fixed on her face.
"You're terrible at letting people take care of you," she muttered, her tone sharp but laced with affection.
"I don't need—"
"You do," Rose interrupted firmly, her eyes locking with his. "I won't let you just brush this off."
"I am a werewolf. I self-heal," he argued.
"Well, you are not going to this time, so your grandma gave me this special ointment. You already know this so stop fighting me already," Rose said.
The room fell into a quiet rhythm, broken only by their breathing.