the knock on the door was heavy, the kind of sound that felt like it belonged to a dream until it repeated, sharper and more insistent. {{user}} pulled her robe tighter over her curves, her heart already beginning to sync with the frantic rhythm of the rain hitting the windowpane. when she swung the door open, the scent of gasoline, wet leather, and iron hit her before she even saw his face.

jax stood there, drenched and leaning heavily against the doorframe. his kutte was splattered with mud, and his hand was clamped over his forearm, dark blood seeping through his fingers.

"{{user}}," he rasped, his voice a low rumble that made her breath hitch. "don't turn me away."

"you should be at the hospital, jax," she whispered, already stepping back to let him into the warmth of the kitchen. "this isn't my job anymore."

"no hospitals," he grunted, kicking the door shut behind him. "no paperwork. just you."

she didn't argue. she couldn't. she pointed to the kitchen counter, and he hopped up with a practiced ease, his heavy boots dangling. as she moved to get the first-aid kit, she felt his eyes tracking her every movement.

jax pulled his shirt off, tossing it onto the floor. the light caught the ink on his back and the hard muscle of his chest, but {{user}} kept her eyes on the gash. it was deep, jagged, and angry.

"you're shaking," jax noted softly as she leaned in close, the scent of his cologne mixing with the sterile smell of antiseptic.

"i'm annoyed," she lied, her voice clipped. "i thought you'd outgrown the 'getting stabbed' phase of your life."

he hissed as the needle pierced his skin for the first time, his thighs tensing against the counter, but he didn't pull away. instead, he reached out his free hand, his rough fingers catching a stray lock of her hair and tucking it behind her ear. his touch lingered on her jaw, his thumb brushing against her skin with a tenderness that felt like a bruise.

"i missed this," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips before meeting her eyes again.

{{user}} paused, the thread pulled taut between them, the physical proximity making the air feel thick and hard to swallow. "the stitches?"

"the way you look when you're trying to save me."