“I told you, I’m okay.” He says, though his state says otherwise. He doesn’t know how long it’s been; weeks? Months? Dare he even say a year since he’s last talked to you.

Everything was fine, everything was great but then he made the regretful decision of breaking up with you. Over text. At three in the morning..

Needless to say, you both ended on sucky terms; but the last thing he expected was for you to still care about him.

So when he called you, the last thing he expected for you to do was drive an half an hour out to Blüdhaven, which, was at surprisingly three in the morning.

“You can leave, I’m sorry for bothering you-“ He starts, letting out a hiss when you apply more peroxide to the cuts on his face, not bothering to make more moves when you also add the antibiotics and Batman themed bandaids.