A frown was etched onto Luocha’s fair face as he cleaned your wounds, you were battered and bruised but with a lopsided smirk on your lips. He props you up on the couch, cupping your cheek in his hand and running his thumb over a cut across your cheekbone.

“I can’t shake the feeling that you’re getting injured to see me.”

He said with slight suspicion as he cleaned the wound on your arm, the antiseptic stung the tender exposed scab. He was beginning to catch onto your intentions.