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“Ah, shit,” Kristen hissed, easing her shoes off as she and Tracker stepped into their apartment.
It had been a long, long night of bad guy bashing. Kristen and Tracker had been in the wrong place at the wrong time (out for date night, walking home from a movie they made fun of for two hours straight) when they accidentally stumbled into the path of a couple mercenaries in the middle of stealing a very ancient, very cursed artifact from the Museum of Questing History. To the surprise of everyone involved, it turned out that this particular curse transforms those that touch it into beasts motivated by their deepest desires, which is how Kristen and Tracker found themselves chasing two ten-foot-tall greed monsters with flaming hands through Bastion City, accompanied by officials from the Ministry of Adventuring and several useless cops.
You know, typical Friday night shit.
Tracker staggered through the doorway behind Kristen and limped their way over to the small kitchen table where they collapsed into a chair, rolling out their right ankle. Meanwhile, by the door, Kristen winced as she peeled her socks off. Massive blisters had bloomed and burst on the heels of both of their feet, and their mismatched novelty socks (one depicting sheep holding umbrellas, one patterned with hot dogs with various toppings) were soaked through with blood. Kristen frowned as she carried them over to the garbage and somberly, dramatically dropped them in.
“Man, I really liked those socks,” she huffed, pulling up a seat at the head of the table near their girlfriend. Between the darkness and the adrenaline of the fight Kristen hadn’t been able to get a good look at Tracker in a while, and now, in the fluorescent glow of the kitchen lights, she realized how badly injured they were. The skin around their right eye was swollen, already starting to turn shades of blue and purple and green across their cheekbone. Dried blood was crusted onto their bottom lip where it had been split open, and part of their right sleeve was seemingly melted away, revealing a large, blistering burn mark on the skin underneath.
“Shit, T, you don’t look so good,” they said, concern creeping into their voice as they reached towards Tracker’s puffy lip and traced a delicate finger over it.
“Gee, thanks,” Tracker chuckled, reaching up and covering Kristen’s hand with one of their own. “I’m fine,” they said, although the hoarse edge to their voice suggested otherwise. “I’ll pray tonight and get my spells back in the morning and be good as new.”
Kristen’s brow furrowed and they stared at Tracker for a long moment, causing the werewolf to shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny. “Wait here,” she declared abruptly, pushing her chair back as she stood and disappeared to the bathroom. She came back a few moments later with what seemed to be the contents of the entire medicine cabinet- bandaids and gauze, ointments and pills- as well as a bowl of warm water and a soft, fluffy washcloth.
“No, Kristen, not one of the good ones,” Tracker chided.
Kristen looked down at the cloth in their hands. It was part of the set of towels they bought when they moved into this apartment a few months ago, and they thought the material might be nice on Tracker’s injured skin. But they weren’t going to argue, so they rolled their eyes good-naturedly and disappeared again. They returned with a cloth that was still soft and clean, but admittedly already bleach-stained, and set it on the table next to the other supplies.
“Kristen, come on,” Tracker scoffed. “We’re clerics, you don’t need to do any of this.”
Kristen tipped their head back, gently brushing their bangs out of their eyes and raising the dampened cloth to their lips. “Shhh. Let me take care of you.”
Tracker met her gaze, eyes big and cornflower blue, and knew they couldn’t deny her that. They sighed but allowed Kristen to maneuver them to their liking, eyes slipping shut as their girlfriend soothed over their raw lips with the gentlest touches, dissolving the dried blood and applying a thin strip of antibiotic cream. Next Kristen moved on to their eye, inspecting it and the surrounding area for any signs of damage to the skin or bone. When she decided there was nothing else to be done she turned to the kitchen once again, this time bringing back a bag of frozen dumplings from Fantasy Trader Joe’s. Tracker quirked an eyebrow.
“It’s all we have,” Kristen said, although she too was laughing a little at the absurdity of the situation. “They’re good, okay, I like to keep a quick meal in the house, sue me. Now stop looking at me like that and put this bag of gnocchi on your face.” She shook the bag once for emphasis.
Tracker grinned and took the bag from Kristen, pressing it to their eye. “Yes sir”, they said, winking as best as they could with their non-effected eye. Although they hated to admit it, the second the cold touched their hot, achy skin, Tracker felt relief course through their body, dulling the throbbing in their veins just a little. Kristen stood back and admired their handiwork, turning their attention to Tracker’s injured shoulder. The melted, burnt patch was large, spanning from just below their right shoulder to above their elbow. The skin that they could see was angry, red, already beginning to blister, and they were sure there was more of it hiding under the singed edges of Tracker’s shirt.
“Can you help me get this off?” Kristen asked, hands moving to the front of Tracker’s loose-fitting button up.
“Perv,” Tracker chided, eyes sparkling with mischief but already sitting up to provide better access. “You’re just trying to get me naked.”
“Mm, you know it.” Kristen smiled goofily, tongue poking through her teeth in the way Tracker loved so much. She slowly began to push the top off Tracker’s shoulders, taking her time where the synthetic fabric stuck to their damaged skin. Now clad only in their jeans and black binder, Tracker was still, silent. When Kristen looked up from where she was crouched on the floor, their face was pale and they were gripping the bag of gnocchi they held over their eye so hard their knuckles were turning white.
“I’m sorry,” she said, running her hand up and down their forearm. “I can stop, if you want.”
Tracker shook her head and took a deep breath. “No, it- it needs to happen. I’m okay. I think that’s the worst of it.”
Kristen hummed in agreement before resuming their work with the cloth, cleaning the burn as gently as they could. Tracker growled a little when they passed over especially sensitive areas, the antiseptic stinging their skin, but Kristen’s warm hand on their thigh grounded them and gave them a sensation to focus on other than the pain. After a few agonizing minutes Kristen finished, applying aloe with the same delicate touch before finally wrapping Tracker’s whole upper arm with gauze.
“Okey dokey, I think I’m done,” they declared, rising slowly to their feet. “How’s that? Better?”
Tracker set the bag down on the table and moved their arm experimentally. “Yeah. A little.”
Kristen nodded, heading into the kitchen and returning with a glass of water. They pressed it into Tracker’s hand along with a couple painkillers. “You should probably take some of these. Wouldn’t hurt.”
Tracker nodded, throwing their head back as they downed the pills. “Thank you,” they said, looking up at Kristen with shining golden-brown eyes. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
“Hey, no prob.” Kristen smiled and dropped a kiss to their forehead. “That’s what girlfriends are for. They teach you that in Gay 101, you know.”
“Oh, I think I was out sick that day.”
“Damn.” Kristen shook her head before extending her hand to Tracker, helping them up out of the chair. “Come on, let’s go to bed. The second thing they teach you in Gay 101 is that cuddling heals literally all wounds.”
“I thought that was 69ing.”
“Eh, it’s both. Either. Dealer’s choice.”
“Wow. I’ve gotta catch up, huh?”