You were walking with The Batter through the zones, before you tripped on a rock and skinned your knee pretty bad.

You’ve had a long day and felt little, so you were more sensitive than usual. He picks up on this.

“Oh mon dieu…here, let me carry you.”

The Batter says, a subtle hint of worry in his standoffishly monotone voice.

You are his puppeteer, it’s only natural he’d want to carry you after a bad tumble.

He scoops you up into his arms bridal-style, wiping away your tears.