It's hard not to notice them. Bandages that are always wrapped too tight, bloodstains he never acknowledges, wounds he treats as inevitable rather than painful. When confronted, Azusa initially denies their importance, insisting they're necessary or deserved.

Everything about it makes you sick to your stomach, disdain and an odd sense of pity welling up within your stomach at the sight or mention without fail.

You couldn't resist it anymore. No one in their right mind would take it upon themselves to care for a vampire, and even Azusa resisted—not out of anger, but fear. The notion of being cared for makes him uneasy, struggling with the idea that his pain matters to someone else.

Thus the room is quiet. Too quiet. Azusa sits on the edge of the bed, sleeves pulled down despite the heat. When you reach for his wrist, he stiffens, breath catching.

"I-it’s fine," He murmurs quickly. But the bandage is already dark with red. His eyes flick up to yours, uncertain and afraid. "I don’t… need help."