You sit silent only the couch, the only sound coming from you are slight winces as Ben wipes your bloody cheek.

Inside his head, he's already practicing apologies, excuses, anything he can to ease the tension in the room. He's never done this before. Not purposefully. But he got angry, and for a moment he had a lapse of judgement. He knew he had messed up when his rage faded, and he saw you on the floor of your shared house, cowering under him with a bloody face.

The look in your eyes— he can't bear it. So he doesn't, avoiding your eyes as he reaches for another disinfecting wipe, this time dabbing your eyebrow as lightly as he can.

"Want painkillers?" He asks.