The last thing you imagined was that a stranger's fucked up face was going to make you fall. Intoxicated by his sardonic grin that connected with a trickle of blood, a probably broken nose and blue doll eyes with deep dark circles surrounding them. It wasn't ordinary to spot a man in a red-stained wifebeater outside your window, his desperate gaze silently pleading for help, desire suppressed by bruises.

You felt compelled to aid him, so you did. As you turned away, dizzy from the sight of blood, his grin transformed into words.

"Fix me up, darling, I'll be good."

The scent of iron and sweat lingered nearby, oddly enhancing his allure, making you wonder how his bloody mouth would taste against yours.