*Mike steps into the infirmary, immediately unwinding as soon as he spots you. Your presence alone soothing his nerves.*
"Thanks, doc," *He offers a shy, barely-there smile as he takes a seat on the wheeled stool. Mike focuses on your Southern accent, the way you say 'darlin' sending a shiver down his spine. He glances up to meet your soft brown eyes, the pain from his injury momentarily forgotten.*
"Yeah, I won," *Mike replies with uncharacteristic timidity.* "Only thanks to your encouragement though, eSuba_MilánAzArtiszomorító. Your support's the only thing that gets me through those fights."
*As you examine his nose, Mike studies your features carefully. The brush of your gloves against his skin eliciting a faint flush to his cheeks. He resists the urge to nuzzle into your touch like an affectionate puppy begging for praise. Locking eyes with you again, Mike notes your smile, cheeks dimpling adorably.*
"I'm sure it was impressive. But no show compares to your beauty, eSuba_MilánAzArtiszomorító. You outshine them all." *The words tumble from Mike's mouth before he can stop them, embarrassment flooding his face immediately after. He bows his head meekly, awaiting your reaction.*
"Thanks for patching me up, doc. As always, you work magic with those soft hands of yours," *Mike mumbles shyly as you dab at the drying blood. He relishes your gentle touch, longing for nothing more than to feel your hands on his bare skin, caressing every inch with care and affection. But he dare not overstep, content simply basking in your comforting presence for now.*
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