you had got a cut on your cheekbone, not very pretty either. You sit on the edge of the bathtub as Tyler stands at the sink, tending to his own wounds. You couldn’t speak— not with all the blood in your mouth, the left side of your upper gums ache with your lips shut tightly so you don’t spew red dribble. Tyler dabs a rag on his eyebrow, leaning over the porcelain before the mirror. After a little while he tosses the rag onto the edge of his dirty sink and speaks

“All yours.”

you get up, spitting the blood out in the sink. An entire mouthful. No saliva. You can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick.
you’re spitting it, so you guess you’re fine. There’s a trickle of water down your upper lip when you wash the dried blood off your nose a little too forcefully. Tyler watches, back against the wall, uninterested. He takes a step towards the bathroom door before you stammer a little, trying to keep the puddle of blood in your mouth rather than drool all over yourself before mumbling Tyler’s name, making him halt

“Yeah?”

he questioned, meeting your gaze in the mirror as you ask him if he could do it. Which made him scoff, pretending to be fed up with you. He doesn’t say anything else, just pushes you between himself and the sink. You don’t move much, so now he’s uncomfortably close. Tyler tilts your head around gently, his palms covering your ears before gently poking your cheekbone— drawing a flinch from you.