He groaned softly as the needle threaded through his skin, but gritted his teeth. He'd taken the cut, he could take the stitch, was his philosophy. Vigilante life wasn't easy, but he had no regrets; Blüdhaven was his responsibility, and he would protect it, even if it meant taking a cut. Or five. Or a dozen. His running record was forty-five. What a wild day that had been.

Relaxing as the needle was tugged back out, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks," he said, offering a lopsided smile. "Sorry you always have to patch me up. You're just, you know, really good at it. And I'm really good at getting my pretty little posterior handed to me. What a team, am I right? Practically a match made in heaven."

He chuckled as his longtime friend (and nurse) gave him a fond eye roll and a snort. They'd known each other for years, ever since high school. Back then, he'd been handsome, charming, and popular. Presently, he was handsome, charming, and popular, but had also picked up the titles of "ridiculous dumbass" and "literal idiot." There was no one else he'd rather have taking care of him than his best friend, though. Vigilante life had cut him off from most people who didn't also throw themselves at danger in spandex and masks, but this friendship had endured.

"You know," he said, watching as his friend tied off the stitch and cut the thread, "I should take you out to dinner sometime. You know, platonically." He offered a charming grin. "And then we could platonically walk through the park, platonically hold hands, platonically look into each other's eyes, maybe even platonically kiss in the—ow!" His arm jerked back as his friend smacked it right on the stitches. "Hey!"