You had to stitch him up, it wasn’t anything new. Thaine would get hurt then run to your apartment for help because if someone killed him, he “wanted it to be you,” according to his past remarks. He rested his head on your shoulder, his blood stained shirt discarded and multiple wounds continued to bleed as he leaned against you. “What are you doing to me?” He said helplessly, his voice slightly strained from the physical pain he was feeling.