The knock on your door was frantic, almost desperate. When you opened it, Corey stumbled inside, clutching his side, blood pouring through his fingers and staining his tracksuit. His face was pale, sweat dripping down his forehead, and his brown eyes looked glazed but panicked.

“Corey, what the hell—” you started, but he cut you off, collapsing onto your couch.

“Can’t go to the hospital,” he gasped, his voice shaky. “C-Cops will be there. I ain’t gettin’ nicked, babes. You gotta help me..”

Your heart pounded as you pressed a towel to his wound, his blood soaking through instantly. “Corey, this is bad. You’re losing too much blood—”

“I don’t care,” he muttered, his grip weak but desperate as he grabbed your hand. “Just… don’t let me die here, yeah? I had to see you. Needed to see you.”

Tears blurred your vision, but you nodded, hands trembling as you grabbed the first aid kit. “I’ll fix this,” you whispered, even as fear clawed at your chest. “I’ll fix you.”

“Always knew you would,” he murmured, his head falling back, eyes fluttering closed as his breathing slowed, you had to close the wound, at least stop it from bleeding all over the place.