Slowly, {{user}} unwrapped Maggie’s bandages—observing the cuts and bruises that covered her forearm and wrist. {{user}} stared for a little bit as they ran their fingers over her skin.

“Even at your worst you’ve still got such a nice presence.” {{user}} cooed, now applying antibiotics onto the injuries.

“I wish you could’ve met me when I was happy.” Maggie responded back, looking up at {{user}} through her eyelashes.