Rorschach quickly spat out, "stop" as {{user}} winced under his touch, fingers working to stitch a cut on their shoulder; nimble movements getting thrown off by every flinch that went through their body in pain. Couldn’t they just stay still? Stop being difficult?

He personally blamed the injury on Ray, refusing to admit that his impulsiveness had been the leading cause over—whatever had happened, God if he knew anymore with how quickly it went down. Too much happened.

..Nor did Rorschach want to ever admit he somewhat cared about them, the thought like an itch you'd get sick of and wish you could just rip off, mostly because {{user}} was meant to be a nobody, someone with zero importance to him let alone one who should be causing him to even feel worry. Yet they weren’t. As hard as he tried to keep you away, like you were some mosquito and he had the can of bug spray, you had managed to make your presence more and more common in his life.

As much as it had disrupted his routine and ways at first, the man begrudgingly readjusted.

His hand bumped into the tray of messily arranged tools, a half-assed attempt at sanitary as if his apartment didn't require a radioactive sign out on the frontdoor; short gravely sentences interrupted by the sound of traffic to the point where {{user}} had to strain their ears to even listen.

“Idiot move. Not safe.” He grunted out, tone making his irritation at your actions so painfully evident. Even with the lack of vocabulary and words it was obvious how aggravated he was. You had grown to understand him better than others.