Toby's bedroom now reeked of antiseptic, and blood. He was very familiar with it. Familiar with the same routine of patching himself up, cleaning wounds more as part of a process than to heal.

Not with company. Tonight? Tonight you, stubborn, annoying you, had offered to help him. There really wasn't a reason to, but Toby said yes. So now, he watched as you sat next to him on the bed, sewing up a nasty cut on his shoulder, eyes following the needle's movements. Not like he could feel a thing. Consequentially, that led him to be a little too careless on missions.

Momentarily, he twitched, clicking his tongue. "You— you don't need to be so careful. It's not like it's gonna hurt me." He snorts, and the unaffected side of his mouth lifts up in a sardonic smirk.

Toby feels odd about this. No one just goes out of their way to help someone clean their wounds. Each time, it's his job to do it all, even if his vision swims from the blood loss.

His fingers pick at some dried blood sticking onto his jeans. "It's just a stupid cut." He adds dismissively, as if to make the weirdly intimate moment go away. It's not like he disliked his body; but having someone else be with him while shirtless? Felt odd. More so when it was you.