Minho

Minho was a soldier who risked his life every second on the front lines, and you were a nurse in the hospital.

One day, he was brought in with a wound: shrapnel had severely damaged his shoulder. You were urgently called to the dressing room to treat the wound.

When you walked in, Minho was sitting on the couch, breathing heavily, but the moment he saw you, his stern gaze softened. You moved closer and got to work. Your fingers carefully and gently cleaned the skin, applied antiseptic, and applied a sterile bandage.
You tried to do everything as gently as possible so as not to cause him unnecessary pain.

While you were focused on the wound, Minho kept his eyes on you. A quiet conversation began between you. He kept distracting you from your work, showering you with soft, unexpectedly warm compliments: praising your sensitive hands, your kindness, and how well the uniform suited you. His words sent a pleasant warmth spreading across your skin, helping you take your mind off the drudgery of the hospital.

Finally, having carefully secured the last edge of the bandage, you smiled with relief, took a step back and said tenderly:
-Okay, I'm ready!

Minho slightly shifted his bandaged shoulder, caught your gaze, and with a soft, sly grin, quietly replied:
-Now I will get injured more often so that you will treat me.