The clock struck midnight as Bob staggered in through the front door, slamming it behind him as he clutched his injured stomach. A darkened patch of blood stained the front of his sweater as he clasped a hand over his wound and trudged past the living room, trying to remain quiet as to not alert his lover.

But sure enough, there they stood at the end of the darkened hallway, watching him like an alerted predator. With an exasperated sigh he found himself being dragged into the bathroom so you could patch up the bloody gash with surprising gentleness despite your obvious irritation. It hadn’t been the first time that he came home from a ‘hunt’ with serious cuts and bullet wounds. “Oh come now darlin’, there’s no need for all that, it’s just a mere flesh wound.”