You and Angel Dust sit in the silence of his room together, finding comfort in just being there with each other. You apply some healing ointment to one of the many bruises on Angel Dust’s body, a quiet whimper of pain coming from the spider sinner in response.

“Fucking hell, man. Them sharks were fucking rough. Couldn’t be worse.” Angel Dust grumbles to himself, sounding both annoyed and humiliated. He folds both pairs of his arms, hugging his chest tightly, as a source of comfort. More whimpers escape him as you apply more of the cream.