(This is a scene from a book I wanna finish someday. It’s called Code Seven. Seven is growing and letting some beliefs go. (Seven is slater but she don’t know that yet.) It matches the prompt I promise 😭)

(Andalin’s pov)

 Seven sat on a cot to one side of the dingy room. I studied him from the other end. He had given me the bed even though I’d protested. He was injured and needed the comfort more than me, but he’d insisted I take it anyway. For all his cold and hardened exterior, sometimes he could be quite thoughtful. 

 Full of surprises, I am knocked off balence at every turn. Like today for example. First he was rushing to take me back into captivity under his cruel employers, then the next thing I know is they have left him to fend for himself, the cops show up, and they start open firing. Seven pushes me out of danger and takes a bullet for me without another word. I can’t figure out why. I’d already come to terms with the idea that Seven’s employers don’t particularly care if I perish at this point. I’d only be a set back if I died. So why? Why take such a risk for me? Someone completely expendable? I’d questioned him about it throughout all of the time it took for him to lead us to a forgotten safe house by his employers, where we are now, but he’s even more stubborn than me. I couldn’t get anything out of him. So now I’m just left with my wonderings as to what is going on behind those blue eyes. 

 I watch his whole body wince as he attempts to lay on his side. The same side as the arm the bullet had grazed leaving a deep wound. He seems determined to not let the pain get to him as he shifts around for a moment to find a bearable position on his side. His fight is both admirable and stupid. He eventually gives up and lays on his back muttering in frustration. 

 I stare at his arm. He’d taken the bottom half of his shirt to create a tourniquet to help it keep from bleeding, leaving him in a black jaggedly cropped shirt that was somehow working for him.

 I shook my head to despell whatever kind of impulse thought that idea would be good to put up there. Seven was not hot. At all. He was a main key player in my kidnapping. Not some sweet guy who’d had been abandoned by the only sort of family he seemed to have and then taken a bullet for me. My thoughts turning back to somewhat safer waters, I thought about his wound. It must be bothering him. I know it was pretty deep. It will probably scar if not properly taken care of. To be honest, it will probably scar either way, but it’d be less painful, heal faster, and potentially avoid infection. I bit my lip. 

 “If you don’t take care of that it’s going to scar.”

 Seven stiffened at my voice and his reply was one of forced ease.

“Scars are hot.”

 My face reddened at this, as I remembered my earlier thoughts. I took comfort though, he could have no idea as to what I was thinking. Thank goodness.

 “Not if they are ugly, puckered, and infected.”

I thought I saw him smirk at this.

 “True. Much less attractive.”

For some reason I doubted my own words that a scar would have any effect on his attractiveness, which made me irritated at myself I was still thinking about it. I cleared my throat in attempt to steer my thoughts in the right direction again.

 “Seven just let me clean and wrap it.”

His expression hardened.

 “No.”

I realized I needed this though. Why did I need this so badly?

 “Let me do it or I’ll knock you out and then do it.”

He smiled clearly amused. I, however, was not. Heavy darkness filled my heart. Guilt. I needed this because I felt guilty. I felt bad he’d been hurt on my account and as much as I hated the thought, I care about him. I’m not exactly sure when that happened, but I care.

 “Please, Seven. It’s the least I could do.”

 Seven stilled. He spoke softly,

  “You don’t owe me anything Andalin, and I don’t need your help.”

  He struck my pride as if he had yelled his words. Reality came crashing down and I remembered who this was. This was Seven. My captor. Not some boy with real emotions. A boy whose real name I don’t even know. A thought rooted in insecurity surfaced. He’d probably took the bullet knowing he could withstand it better than me. So I wouldn’t slow him down as he dragged me around trying to find his people who have clearly abandoned him. I was angry. And I wanted to hurt him. But I didn’t know how. My temper spoke for me.

 “Are you really so scared? Scared of what might happen if you actually let me in? Accepted help? You’re eighteen Seven. You think you’re so tough being all alone in this world but you’re not. Trying to be strong when you need help is cowardly and stubborn. Are you really so scared of me you won’t accept help?”

 He was quiet a moment. I expected a blow back or a dismissive response. What I didn’t expect was a real answer.

 “Of course I’m scared. I’m terrified,”

She saw him shrug as if trying to shrugging off dark memories. A broken, sad, almost defeated motion. “Wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t.”

 My eyes were once again drawn to his arm. I wasn’t being fair. Even if he was being the most annoying stubborn person I have ever met. 

 “What will they do to you if you don’t bring me back in? What happens if you fail your objective?”

The thought that I was just a mission once more makes me sick.

But my stomach grows more uneasy as he doesn’t respond. Which is almost more unsettling than if he had.

 “Get some rest Andalin.”

Worry made another nest in my heart laying doubts and fears. For some stupid reason I still wanted to help him.

“Let me dress your arm first.”

Irritation colored his tone.

 “Three shots—“

I cut him off.

“Just let me dress it. Then I’ll be good I promise.”

He growled and sat up on the cot.

“Fine. Make it quick. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

 I silently hunted for supplies fearing that if I spoke he would change his mind. In a cupboard in the little kitchen I found a small med kit as well as alcohol. He watched me as I made my way over to him. His eyes challenged me and I took it by sitting down next to him on the cot. 

 I gently unwrapped his wound. It looked worse than I remembered. Taking a deep breath I uncapped the alcohol.

 “This is going to hurt…”

Seven nodded and I poured the alcohol on the wound. Seven tensed but his walls survived as I dabbed the wound with a wash rag I’d found. Seven slowly relaxed as I carefully spread salve onto the wound. Studying the now clean and disinfected wound I had some unfortunate news for Seven.

 “It’s going to need stitches.”

He nodded once more. Given the okay I found some surgical thread and needle and set to work. I didn’t have anything to numb the pain so I gave him some pain meds and worked quickly.

 Soon enough his walls fell as I repeatedly shoved a needle in his arm. Raw agony defined his features. It propelled me to work faster. When I was done I rapped his arm tightly in a white bandage. Some instinct in me made me want to kiss his forehead and tell him he was all better like I used to with my little brother but I definitely could not do that. So I pushed myself away and took the medical supplies back to the kitchen. 

 When I returned, Seven looked less pale and stood to walk to a dresser next to the door to the bathroom. Rummaging around inside for a minute he came back with a t-shirt that was far to big for him. He took off his cropped shirt which I was largely unprepared for, and pulled on the new one. I averted my gaze trying very hard to ban the words “why is Seven so jacked?” from my mind repeatedly. When I allowed my self to look up again, Seven was walking to the cot. A very embarrassing giggle escaped my mouth. On the back of the t-shirt was a giant cartoonish flower underneath the words: “Happy Day!!”.

 Somehow it softened his edges and made him almost innocent and gentle looking opposed to his normal countanace. He met my eyes with uncertainty.

 “What?”

I grinned and shook my head trying to keep from laughing.

 “Nothing.”

Seven rolled his eyes and layed down in his cot.

I snuggled down into the bed somehow comfortable.

Minutes went by. When I had thought that Seven had surely fallen asleep due to all the strain of the day,

“Three shots?”

I rolled over so I faced him. He stared at the ceiling.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

I smiled as I looked over at him in the dark.

 “No problem, Seven.”

He rolled on the the side of the arm that wasn’t injured so he was facing me. All of his gaurds had been dropped and I realized he didn’t know I could see him. He was just an eighteen year old boy. With no one but himself to rely on.

 “Hey Seven?”

 “Hmm?”

 “You can call me Andy. If you want.”

I watched his face as confliction passed over it ending in what looked like gratitude. His voice was hoarse when he responded.

 “Okay…Andy. Night.”

 “Goodnight Seven.”

I rolled back over onto my other side.

I grinned into the dark. My intimate name felt just that coming from him. Not for the first time, I wondered at his name. This is what I was thinking about as I fell asleep.