Eric Coulter Imagines

What If: He Gets Hurt (Part 2/2)

Y/N didn't want to admit she was worried about Eric. After all, it wasn't her job to babysit him. But there she was, watching him from across the training room, noticing the way he moved—stiffer than usual, slower. The wound from yesterday's mission was clearly bothering him, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes at how much of an idiot he was for pushing through it like nothing had happened.

If he collapses, at least I won't have to deal with him for a while, she thought dryly. But then again, I'll lose my sparring partner, and I can't have that.

When the trainees finally scattered, Y/N didn't waste time. She crossed the room, arms crossed over her chest as she stepped in front of him. "Still alive, I see. Barely."

Eric glanced up, smirking despite the sweat on his forehead. "Disappointed?" he shot back, though his voice was rougher than usual.

"Not yet," Y/N replied, eyeing him carefully. She didn't miss the way he was holding his side, the strain in his expression. "Let me see."

Eric scoffed, leaning against the wall. "You're not my nurse, princess."

"No, but I'm not letting you bleed out like an idiot," she retorted, grabbing his arm. "Let me see, or I'm ripping that bandage off myself."

He gave her a sharp look, but it lacked its usual edge. "You're bossy, you know that?" he muttered, but he didn't stop her from checking his wound.

Y/N peeled back the bandage, frowning as she noticed the heat radiating from his skin. "Jesus Christ, Eric, you're burning up. You've got a fever."

Eric shrugged, clearly unbothered. "I'm fine."

"You look like death warmed over, and you're telling me you're fine?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're a damn idiot."

Eric's smirk faded slightly as he stared at her. For a brief second, he thought he saw something in her eyes—something close to actual concern. It was rare, almost foreign to him, to see anyone care about him in any genuine way. But he blinked, brushing it off just as quickly as it came.

"I've been called worse," Eric muttered, pushing himself off the wall, though he swayed slightly.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Y/N said, grabbing his arm more firmly. "Come on. You're not going to the hospital wing, so I'm dragging you back to your room. Don't even argue."

Eric raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but too tired to fight back. "Dragging me, huh?"

"You heard me," Y/N shot back, starting to pull him toward the exit. "Move your ass, or I'll make you."

"You're cute when you're bossy," Eric muttered under his breath, but he followed her lead, grumbling the whole way.

They made it to his room, and Y/N practically shoved him inside. "Sit down," she ordered, pointing to the bed.

Eric shot her a sideways look, amusement flickering in his eyes despite the fever. "You're getting real comfortable giving orders."

"Yeah, and you're real bad at following them," Y/N shot back, grabbing a cloth from the small sink. "Sit. Down."

Eric finally obliged, collapsing onto the bed with a groan, his usual smugness dulled by the exhaustion creeping in. "You know, princess, you could've just let me handle this."

"Yeah, you're doing a stellar job," Y/N muttered, soaking the cloth in cold water before wringing it out. She moved to press it against his forehead, and for the first time, Eric didn't flinch away. His skin was hot—too hot. "You've got a fever. Try not to die."