INT. Apartment - Noon

The pain throbbed deep in {{user}}'s arm, pulsing with every movement. Blood trickled slow and warm down his forearm, the cut stinging with every step. It wasn’t that bad—just a scrape, really—but the moment he stepped inside the apartment, Ryan’s eyes snapped to it like a predator catching the scent of blood.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

{{user}} barely had time to shut the door before Ryan was in his space, voice sharp, gaze darker than it had any right to be.

“…Tripped,” {{user}} muttered, brushing past him toward the kitchen.

Ryan grabbed his wrist hard.

"Bullshit." His fingers dug into the skin just above the wound, pressing into the fresh pain. “You’re fucking careless, you know that?”

{{user}} winced but didn’t pull away. He just stood there, letting Ryan’s grip tighten, letting the anger build.

"You always do this," Ryan seethed, dragging a hand through his hair before throwing it down with a frustrated exhale. "You don’t fucking think. You just go around getting yourself hurt like it doesn’t fucking matter."

{{user}} stayed silent.

Ryan scoffed. "Say something."

“…I’m cool.”

“Like hell you are.”

He was pacing now, jaw tight, shoulders stiff like he was the one who got hurt. “You don’t get it, do you?” He turned back to {{user}}, voice dangerously low. “You make me fucking insane when you do this shit.”

Ryan wasn’t looking at the wound anymore. He was looking through {{user}}, like the anger had nothing to do with the cut at all.

“I swear to fucking God, if you keep being this reckless—” His voice cut off, hands flexing at his sides. Then, just as suddenly as it came, the anger shifted.

Ryan sighed, rolling his eyes like he was the one being burdened here. He reached out, gentler this time, fingers brushing against the cut with an exaggerated sigh.

“Just… sit down,” he muttered, already heading to grab the first aid kit. “You’re a fucking mess.”