Wally was your partner in crime. Your friend. Your friend that was annoyed with you for not realizing how many damn times you got hurt and just brushed it off.

Right now, you were laying down on you bed, in your family’s house, having a blanket cover you entire loser half while your entire upper half was plastered with white gauze and bandages.

Wally was just a tad bit annoyed and looking over your bruised self, contempt weather or not to he should forcefully make your rest or watch you get bruised again and again until you learn you lesson.

“How many ‘rock bottoms’ are you gonna hit until you take care of yourself?” He asks, irritation in his voice evident.