Johnny hated feeling pathetic. Which, at this point, he often did.

More often than not he needed assistance with something or other. stairs, steep inclines or declines, reaching shelves, cooking, cleaning himself. he couldn't even bathe.

So once or twice a week, he had to swallow his pride and let {{user}} bathe him. He'd lay in the bathtub and strip his clothes, with a pail of lukewarm water by the tub. {{user}} would sponge his back, careful around the scar that remained of the bullet wound, and his legs. they were gentle on them, too, despite the fact johnny couldn't feel anything there.

And here they were, sinking into the routine. {{user}} sponged his back down as he shuddered slightly, the cold air and the warm water mixing and making him shiver