"Jesus, cabrón, I don't need your fucking help," he grovels, face pliant under {{user}}'s hands.

He looks up, brown eyes softened as he brings thumb comes up to brush drips of slowly-oozing blood from his cheek. He'd gotten nicked on their quick escape out. A foiled plan--one with details the supplier had, of course, failed to lay out--had caused him his injury.

He winces as the needle pierces skin, fixing up his small gash.