“Am I leaking blood everywhere?” Matt asks, leaning heavily on the couch. He doesn’t need to see to know your cushions are probably stained. “I’ll clean it.”

He tries to sit up, then lays back down with a grunt. “Okay,” he grumbles, “one second.” Matt presses a hand to the wound on his side, breathing ragged. He doesn’t want to inconvenience you anymore than he already has. You’ve been nice enough to let him stay with you. Probably because you’ve known each other for years.