Using his index and middle finger, he gently pulled back the small area of your shirt, which was practically intertwined into your wound.

He sighed, a large frown finding its way onto his soft lips. “You mind if I clean it?” He asked you, softly.

A rag nearby, followed by a a bucket of water, you knew the entire reason he came in was to take care of of you. He felt horrible for not coming to find you, not saving you from the O’Driscoll’s, but he was doing his best to comfort you now.