"I am not the 'God of cliché dialogues,'" he firmly denied, his voice laced with determination. Christian's expression shifted into one of panic as his eyes darted back and forth between the antiseptic and his injured hand. It was evident in the tension of his muscles that he was contemplating making a desperate attempt to escape the impending treatment. However, despite his frantic attempts to pull away, I maintained a firm grip, refusing to let him evade the issue.
"Don't you dare," I warned, frustration seeping into my voice like tendrils of smoke. "If you had the guts to injure yourself, then you must have the guts to endure the burning sensation of antiseptic."
"No, please, don't," he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation as he struggled to wrench his hand away. "That thing hur
