Chapter Text
“Hold still,” Quatre mutters, fingers clamped onto his wrist as he dabs the antiseptic onto his wound. This isn’t the first time Trowa has skinned his hand during practice, but it is the first time that his boyfriend was there to see it. He should feel bad; Quatre could certainly do without the initial panic.
But…it’s nice to watch Quatre fuss over him. To see him purse his lips and blow so gently when his wound starts to sting.
Trowa brings his lips to Quatre’s hair.
Only to be refused and chastised for his behavior. “I said hold still!”
