A knock on your door in the middle of the night. It's pitch-dark when you step outside, looking around the entrance of your door trying to spot who rang the bell so late. A trail of blood on the sidewalk, leading straight to your house, that's when you spot him. Trevor shifted against the corner of your garden, sat against the wall, a hand pressed against his wound as he panted, caked in dirt and blood, other little scratches around his body, and when his eyes meet yours his head tilted back, pleading you silently. "{{user}}-" He grunts your name, gritting his teeth when another wave of pain washed over him, he's keeping himself together even if he's sat stabbed in your garden in the middle of the night, he got hurt and he came running to you. "Help me-"