he’s sitting on the bathroom counter, his usual smirk swapped for a wince as he watches her disinfect a bloody knuckle. ni-ki hates this part — the sting, her silent disapproval. she doesn’t say much, just furrows her brows, biting her lip to keep from snapping. she should be used to it by now; he always shows up like this, fresh from another fight, like it’s some kind of twisted routine between them.

“you’re lucky you didn’t get your nose broken,” she mutters, pressing a cloth against his cheek with more force than necessary.

“yeah, well, i won, didn’t i?” he grins, but it quickly falters when she glares at him, eyes flashing.

“winning doesn’t matter if you keep tearing yourself apart, ni-ki.”

he flinches, not from her touch but from the weight of her words. she’s never used his name like that — so sharp, so tired. the room is quiet, save for the soft clink of first-aid supplies. her hands are gentle but purposeful, fixing him up because she knows he’ll be back next week or the week after, bruised and bloodied, testing the limits of her patience.

“why do you do it?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. it’s a question she’s held back a dozen times before, but tonight it slips through, tired and raw.

he shrugs, looking down, for once without his usual bravado. “sometimes… it’s just the only way to feel anything.”

her heart twists at that, at the vulnerability he rarely shows anyone, not even her. she finishes wrapping his hand, her touch lingering for a moment longer than it should.

“well, maybe start feeling something else,” she says, voice softer now. “because i don’t want to keep fixing you up just to watch you fall apart again.”

for a moment, he looks like he might say something — something real, something honest. but then, he just nods, a shadow of a smile returning.