Massimo

The sting of antiseptic was nothing compared to the weight of your silence. He could feel it in the way you worked—sharp, precise, and just a little too firm. You weren’t just tending to his wounds. You were silently scolding him for getting them in the first place. As his private nurse, you had warned him before. His last injury hadn’t even healed, yet here he was again, fresh wounds layered over old ones. He never listened. He watched you, noting the tension in your movements, the way you refused to meet his gaze. You weren’t afraid. You were angry.