Anemoboxer

“I was supposed to protect you.” You were the one on the sickbed but the one on the chair opposite of you somehow looked ten times worse for wear. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” You assured him, wincing when he looked up and you were subjected to the world’s most devastating kicked-puppy look. 

“I’m sorry.” the large man sulked and the image of his head lowered and large body hunched over in that tiny chair had your heart twisting with guilt as you pulled your clothes tighter to hide the white of bandages from sight.

If you knew getting injured would mean being subjected to this insane torture of guilt tripping via the equivalent of being in the presence a sulking golden retriever who’s lost his owner, then you’d definitely would’ve thought twice before leaping headfirst into battle.

Pyroslinger

“You’re terrible at this!” you gasped in horror as he shot you a withered look.

“Well, I’m sorry if my bandaging does not fit your fashion sense-”

“I can barely see my hand!” you complained, lifting said hand which currently shared more similarities to a club than a limb with the amount of gauze that’s been wrapped around it.

The man even had the gall to flash you a cheeky wink. “That treasure hoarder really was a handful righ-OW!”