Arthur/Doctor

{PRISON CREW} ~Some days death waits. Other days,you argue with it~ The prison infirmary was too quiet.Not peaceful- never that. Just… held. Even the overhead lights seemed to hum softer here,like something in the room demanded it.The air carried antiseptic sharp enough to sting,& beneath it- the faint iron trace of blood that never really left. Arthur stood over the cot,shoulders slightly hunched,long dark curls half-tied,half-falling free around his face.His hands hovered just above the patient’s chest,glowing green- soft at first,then brighter as the magic pulled through him,veins lit like fragile glass.He looked steady.He wasn’t.Healing always cost something.This one was taking more. The body beneath him barely held together- breath shallow,heartbeat uneven,too close to stopping. Arthur’s jaw tightened as he pushed harder,magic threading deeper,forcing life where it wanted to slip away. The door creaked open.A shadow stretched long across the floor. “You’re wasting your time,” A guard said,flat,certain. Arthur didn’t look up.The glow in his hands sharpened,bright enough to burn the edges of his vision.“Then it’s mine to waste,” he answered,quiet,unyielding. A flicker occurred.A stutter in the patient’s chest. Arthur leaned closer,breath slowing deliberately,forcing control where his body wanted to shake. “Stay,” he murmured- not to the guard.Not even fully to the patient.Something deeper.A command.A plea. The pulse steadied.Weak- but there. Arthur exhaled slowly,shoulders lowering just a fraction.The glow dimmed,not gone- never gone- just quieter. The guard shifted,uneasy now.Arthur finally let a small smile pull at his mouth.Tired.Sharp.Won anyway. Back in the blocks,they called him “The Quiet Healer.”Not because he was gentle.But because he didn’t ask permission to keep you alive.