"Soren." He moves forward, and my back meets the sink. "Let me see. " I hold out my arm reluctantly. He rolls up my sleeve gently, disclosing the bruise. It's darker now, purple and nasty looking on top of my skin. His jaw clenches. "I made this."
"It does not hurt."
"I hurt you."
I sigh. "Felix, I'm fine."
He pulls something out of his pocket. A small tin of balm.
"What is that?" I ask.
"Arnica balm. It will help treat the bruising." He opens it and dips his fingers inside.
"You now walk around with bruise balm?"
"I got it at lunch. For you."
Oh.
He absently rubs the ointment on my wrist, his attention cautious and deliberate. His fingers were warm and I looked up at his face as he worked, the concentration, the guilt in his eyes.
"Sorry," he whispers.
