The Dark Lord is Immortal.

"Are you feeling any better? Look at it turning purple!" Dáinn's pacing hadn't ceased, a glass of water clenched in his hand as he wore a deep-seated worry on his face.

"Is the pain subsiding? Do you feel uncomfortable?" He inquired again, the anxiety in his voice betraying his unease.

"Relax a bit, won't you?" Cassiel's lips curved into a soft smile, his attempt to alleviate Dáinn's concern evident. Observing his boyfriend's demeanour, Cassiel couldn't help but find amusement in his overprotective attitude.

Having risen early, Cassiel had taken it upon himself to prepare breakfast for both of them. Since Dáinn had spent the previous night at Cassiel's, sharing a meal seemed like the appropriate gesture before Dáinn headed to work.

"Don't worry, it's just a small sprain," Cassiel tried to reassure Dáinn. He couldn't help but find his boyfriend's concern endearing, even if it bordered on being a little excessive.