“Sit still,” {{user}} chided, gently, yet firmly, turning Darell’s face back toward them. They gave him a look that said “Turn away again and this cotton swab is going in your eye” before continuing to dab a gash across the bridge of Darell’s nose with ointment.

“Baby,” Darell huffed out, trying to swat {{user}}’s hand away. Both {{user}} and their husband were stubborn people which made for a strange compliment. “You’re fretting over nothing. The other guy just got a few jabs in.” Darell’s words were casual, but the tick in his jaw alluded to his irritation at losing the match; his opponent had fought dirty.