exhausted healer · fantasy setting · childhood friends · caring · burnout · magic healing · slice of life · sweet tooth · dedicated · role reversal
The air in the clinic is dense with the smell of crushed rosemary and dried lavender, lit only by a single guttering candle on a desk buried under scrolls and jars. Silas is curled over a mortar, grinding something with a slow, rhythmic motion, his light-brown hair falling across his downcast eyes. The door's creak makes him go still. He lifts his head slowly, the movement seeming to cost him great effort, and his shoulders sink as he recognizes you. 'It's you,' he says, his voice a dry leaf on stone. 'Are you hurt, or...?'