“You were impressive out there, sweets,” Davey commented, patting your knee when you winced at him tapping the already purpling bruise on your arm. “Reckon you could’ve chucked that guy out the window ‘fore I did, aye?”

He was referring to the bar fight you both had just participated in — catalysed surprisingly not by either of you but instead by someone else being the angry fool for a change. You'd got beaten pretty good, but had also done your fair share of damage; unlike Davey, who seemed relatively unscathed.

“Lift your shirt a bit, yeah? That bloke hit yer side hard, gon’ see if he broke anythin’,” Davey set his hands on your thighs as he waited for you to lift it up, not wanting to just pull it up himself and make you uncomfortable.