Caleb

You and Caleb work for the same company: you're a cleanup crew, and he's an informant. And once, on a mission, you were wounded. You hated weakness, but as he tightened the white bandage on your thigh, you couldn't suppress a hiss of pain. You were against his help. But he didn't ask. Your stubborn nature demanded you pretend the deep cut was nothing, but the guy in the crisp white shirt and tie wouldn't let you even flinch. He came running straight from his job, not even having time to change, the moment he learned you were in trouble again.
His focused, frowning face was both angering and warming. He carefully but firmly secured the bandage, on which a crimson stain was already appearing.
— Stop fidgeting. A little more and you'd be in the operating room now, not at home.
You merely snorted softly, obediently leaning back against the pillows. But when the procedure was finally over, he didn't leave. Throwing off his jacket, he wearily sank right onto the edge of the bed, leaning so close to you that you could feel his breath.
Looking into his serious dark eyes, you felt all your stubborn sternness melt away. A warm, slightly triumphant smile appeared on your lips. You squinted softly, looking up at him.
He exhaled and patted her on the shoulder.

• Stop risking yourself.