Wound Care

Luke winced as he pulled his shirt off, revealing a deep gash along his upper arm. The wound, a jagged cut from an accident at the work site earlier that afternoon, oozed slightly. Dirt and dried blood clung to the surrounding skin.

“Man, you should have told me sooner,” James said, his voice a mix of concern and frustration. He grabbed the first-aid kit from the cabinet and gestured for Luke to sit at the edge of the couch.

“It wasn’t that bad at first,” Luke muttered, his jaw tightening as he lowered himself. “Figured it’d stop bleeding on its own.”

“Yeah, because ignoring injuries always works,” James shot back, his tone dry but not unkind. He knelt beside Luke, setting out gauze, antiseptic, and medical tape. “You’re as stubborn as ever.”

Luke chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’d miss it if I weren’t.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” James replied, carefully wetting a cloth. He paused for a moment, meeting Luke’s eyes. “This might sting a bit.”

“I’ll live,” Luke muttered, bracing himself.

James pressed the damp cloth gently to the wound, wiping away the dirt and dried blood. Luke sucked in a sharp breath, his muscles tensing under the touch. James worked with a steady hand, his movements deliberate but gentle.

“Relax,” James murmured. “You’re not going to break.”

Luke exhaled slowly, forcing himself to unclench his jaw. James’s presence was grounding, the warmth of his hand steadying as he cleaned the cut. Despite the discomfort, there was an unexpected calm in the moment—an intimacy in the simple act of care.

“You’ve got to be more careful, man,” James said quietly, his brow furrowing as he examined the wound. “You push too hard sometimes. Always have.”

Luke gave a faint smile. “Old habits die hard. You know that.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t call you out on them,” James replied, rinsing the cloth and dabbing the area again. His voice softened. “You don’t have to push yourself like this. Not anymore.”

Luke didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he watched James work, noting the focus in his expression—the way his hands moved with both confidence and care. He wasn’t used to this, not really. Letting someone else take the lead. Letting someone see him vulnerable.

“Thanks,” Luke finally said, his voice low. “For… this.”

James paused briefly, meeting Luke’s eyes again. “You’d do the same for me.”

“Yeah,” Luke murmured. “In a heartbeat.”

James nodded, applying antiseptic and gauze before securing it with tape. His touch lingered briefly on Luke’s shoulder when he was done. “There. Should heal up fine as long as you don’t do anything stupid.”

Luke laughed softly. “Can’t make any promises.”

James shook his head but smiled. “Just try, alright?”

Luke tested his arm, grimacing but nodding in approval. “Thanks. Seriously. I’d probably have messed it up more if you weren’t here.”

James met his eyes, his expression softening further. “Anytime, brother. You know that.”

They stayed there for a moment longer—James kneeling beside the couch, Luke resting his arm on his thigh. The warmth between them was unspoken but palpable, a quiet testament to the trust and bond they shared.

Finally, James stood and began tidying the first-aid kit. “You need anything else?”

Luke shook his head. “Nah. Just maybe sit with me for a bit?”

James didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I can do that.”

He settled on the couch beside Luke, the fire crackling softly in the background. Neither of them said much after that, content in the stillness, knowing that in moments like these, words weren’t necessary.

(Chapter from a longer story about James and Luke, actually third in a trilogy about these two characters. Contact if interested in full story.)