Sore, is the first thing his drowsy brain registers. A dull, stiff ache at first, all through his left side, getting stronger and harder to ignore as the minutes pass. He shifts, rolls his shoulders to try to get the crick out of his upper back as the thought hey, this kinda hurts more than it should drifts across his mind.
Bad, bad idea. The pain intensifies to somewhere around the owfuckowFUCK OW! range, bright white fire in his ribcage and shoulders and what feels like every single muscle. Along with sensation comes memory - attack on a fortified base, busting into a locked room, some sort of miniaturized Behemoth crashing into him from the side. That would explain the busted ribs, at least.
"Curaga," says a light voice from a few feet away, followed by "Regen" as the gentle warmth of the spell replaces the burn of torn muscles and the white-hot stabs of broken ribs. Even without her voice, he'd know Selphie by the feel of her spells. All of his friends have a different taste or scent or feel to their magic - Zell's Cure spells are like being punched with a fist that's been dipped in mint chocolate, Quistie's are precise and tart and rimmmed with blue, and Rinoa's feel like sticking his finger in an outlet and drinking pink lemonade at the same time. Selphie's healing magic smells like oranges and feels like her lips on his skin, his favorite by far.
"Thanks, Sefie", he says, not opening his eyes (too bright, the lights in the room positioned right over the bed, dropping straight into his pupils if he's not careful - and he's spent enough time in this bed to know that). "You overgrown idiot," she says as she smoothes the hair back from his forehead. "You know better than to run into a blind room without backup. What the hell were you thinking?" There's no malice in her voice, just the faded edge of fear after it's turned to anger and burnt itself out. He turns his head to face her (ow ow ow bubbling over the Regen knitting him back together) and opens one eye. Her hair is a mess, there is a small cut over one thin eyebrow, and her right arm is in a sling (sprained, he'll find out later). She looks tired and worn-out and triumphant at the same time with smudges on her cheek and new dents in her weapon - his warrior princess, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"Not entirely sure, darlin'," he says, grabbing her hand and gently kissing the backs of her fingers. "Seem to remember thinkin' that if the monsters were beating me up, they'd be too busy to go after you." She smiles, exasperated and affectionate at the same time. The same expression she always makes when he gets hurt trying to keep her safe (pointless, he knows, but it's the deep-down chivalry in him demanding that he protect his lady fair). She sighs and leans down to kiss him. Her lipgloss has the same taste of oranges as her Cure spell, and her good hand fists in his hopelessly tangled hair. "Easy, tiger," he mutters after she nips at his lower lip, "I'm still bleeding, y'know." "And I'll make you bleed even more if you keep pulling stunts like that," she says, bumping her nose against his. "No more getting hurt for me, 'k?" "Yes ma'am," he says, and smiles when she giggles.
"Recovery Room 4", Selphie/Irvine (PG for language)
Bad, bad idea. The pain intensifies to somewhere around the owfuckowFUCK OW! range, bright white fire in his ribcage and shoulders and what feels like every single muscle. Along with sensation comes memory - attack on a fortified base, busting into a locked room, some sort of miniaturized Behemoth crashing into him from the side. That would explain the busted ribs, at least.
"Curaga," says a light voice from a few feet away, followed by "Regen" as the gentle warmth of the spell replaces the burn of torn muscles and the white-hot stabs of broken ribs.
Even without her voice, he'd know Selphie by the feel of her spells. All of his friends have a different taste or scent or feel to their magic - Zell's Cure spells are like being punched with a fist that's been dipped in mint chocolate, Quistie's are precise and tart and rimmmed with blue, and Rinoa's feel like sticking his finger in an outlet and drinking pink lemonade at the same time. Selphie's healing magic smells like oranges and feels like her lips on his skin, his favorite by far.
"Thanks, Sefie", he says, not opening his eyes (too bright, the lights in the room positioned right over the bed, dropping straight into his pupils if he's not careful - and he's spent enough time in this bed to know that).
"You overgrown idiot," she says as she smoothes the hair back from his forehead. "You know better than to run into a blind room without backup. What the hell were you thinking?" There's no malice in her voice, just the faded edge of fear after it's turned to anger and burnt itself out.
He turns his head to face her (ow ow ow bubbling over the Regen knitting him back together) and opens one eye. Her hair is a mess, there is a small cut over one thin eyebrow, and her right arm is in a sling (sprained, he'll find out later). She looks tired and worn-out and triumphant at the same time with smudges on her cheek and new dents in her weapon - his warrior princess, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"Not entirely sure, darlin'," he says, grabbing her hand and gently kissing the backs of her fingers. "Seem to remember thinkin' that if the monsters were beating me up, they'd be too busy to go after you." She smiles, exasperated and affectionate at the same time. The same expression she always makes when he gets hurt trying to keep her safe (pointless, he knows, but it's the deep-down chivalry in him demanding that he protect his lady fair). She sighs and leans down to kiss him. Her lipgloss has the same taste of oranges as her Cure spell, and her good hand fists in his hopelessly tangled hair. "Easy, tiger," he mutters after she nips at his lower lip, "I'm still bleeding, y'know."
"And I'll make you bleed even more if you keep pulling stunts like that," she says, bumping her nose against his. "No more getting hurt for me, 'k?"
"Yes ma'am," he says, and smiles when she giggles.