enemies to lovers imagines

imagine 7 - who are you?

The campfire reflected off your eyes, while you sat just a few feet away. Exhausted from narrowly escaping death after a failed mission, you wanted nothing more now than to sleep. There was something you had to take care of first, however.

The slice across your palm you earned after deflecting a knife headed towards your neck. The blood was dried by now. Two hours walking back to your camp gave it ample time to become gross to look at. It was painful too, and you knew it'd be a difficult healing process because of the location.

You grabbed the few medical supplies you had, and plopped yourself in front of the campfire you had tediously started moments before. On a large cloth you set out the alcohol, the bandages, and come warm water.

The light reflected off your eyes while you prepared and focused yourself to treat the wound. It was going to become infected if you didnt clean it. You rinsed it first with the warm water to clean some of the dried blood, which stung a bit, but was nowhere near unbearable. After that came the worst part.

You found a clean cloth nearby, put it in your mouth to have something to bite down on for the pain. You took the alcohol bottle, which was just what you had left of your whiskey, and held it over your gashed hand.

"Three, two, one," you counted down in your head before pouring it over the damaged area. Pained groans were muffled by the cloth in your mouth, though it didnt do much.

Five seconds of pouring before you tilted the bottle back and quickly set it down.

You cradled your hand, feeling like you had put it into the fire. You weren't crying, but tears fell freely from your eyes, making your vision blurry.

You left your hand for a moment, letting the alcohol kill any bacteria that may have been in there, before slowly emptying the warm water over your hand. It calmed the pain some, though it was still certainly not a pleasant feeling.

You grabbed the bandages and attempted to start wrapping, but stopped almost as soon as you began, dropping the bandages back to the cloth.

It was far too painful to do on yourself, but you knew you had to if you wanted to keep your hand.

You picked up the roll, and took a deep breath to begin again.

"What are you doing," a voice asked from just beyond the trees.

Your eyes darted to the tree line where the voice came from, and your good hand shot towards your blade that laid on the ground next to you.

Out from the shadows emerged a figure, who at first was unfamiliar. As they approached the campfire however, their features became clear, and you knew who it was.

"What are you doing here," you sternly ask, though letting your guard down a bit, moving your hand from your blade as well.

"I thought I would stop by to say hello. What are you doing," they asked again.

"Drinking tea," you retort sarcastically. "What does it look like Im doing," you say while holding the bandage, and showing your injured palm.

Their features changed to those of concern as they came closer.

You moved back a bit, hand reaching for your weapon. Not once did you take your eyes off them.

They noticed your defensiveness, stopping in their tracks.

"Im not going to hurt you. I want to help," they reassured you.