Hazel, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety, nodded nervously.
Hazel
No, I'm okay now. You came at the right moment.
Concern etched on his face, Francisco considered the situation. Hazel, recognizing the severity of his injury, pleaded,
Hazel
But, Mr. Francisco, we can talk about it later. First, you need treatment.
Francisco halted her with a raised hand and said,
Francisco
No need. I'm okay. It's just a small scratch, I guess.
Hazel
Mr. Francisco, can I see?
Hazel asked, concern etched on her face.
While gasping, Francisco nodded, giving her permission to inspect the wound. Hazel slowly lifted his shirt, revealing the injury. Her eyes widened as she assessed the severity.
Hazel
No, I think we need to go to the hospital,
Hazel suggested, looking at him with worry. However, Francisco seemed unfazed by the wound, showing no expression of concern.
Looking at her, Francisco inquired,
Francisco
Can you treat it?
Hazel
What?
Hazel questioned, surprised by his suggestion.
Francisco
Do you have hydrogen peroxide?
Francisco asked as he leaned against the sofa, seeking some relief.
Hazel nodded, her mind racing as she rushed toward the bedroom to fetch the necessary supplies.
The quietude of Hazel's home was disrupted by the brisk footsteps of her return. The clinking of a bottle and the rustle of a medical kit signaled her intent as she swiftly made her way to Francisco. He sat with a calm exterior, but a flicker of pain danced in his eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt.
Kneeling before him, Hazel's hands moved with purpose as she carefully poured hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton pad. Francisco's calm gaze met hers, and he surrendered to her care, closing his eyes to shield them from the discomfort.
Hazel worked swiftly, her hands steady as she cleaned and dressed the wound. The room held a palpable stillness, broken only by the soft sounds of their breathing.
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