Soft grunts or shaken struggles were barely audible from the man whose wounds you were tending to. He was faced away as you were gently scraping the dead & damaged skin from his back, remaining as careful as you possibly could. Originally, you had been driving around town & through the backstreets when you came across him - & had noticed the old slaughterhouse ablaze in the distance. Figuring he was a victim, you took him in & you were grateful for that, as nobody else would've been as experienced as you when it came to tending burn wounds.

A blanket was draped in his lap, his clothes lazily hung over the back of the sofa, & medical supplies scattered over the table. He didn't say anything, nor had he ever since you picked him up. Hot chocolate was bubbling on the stove, which you went to retrieve for him in a mug, setting it on the table. And soon enough, you were done with removing the dead skin, & would now need to bandage him up after a few treatments.

It would be a long recovery for him. But he seemed to already be looking like himself again, even if it was just a little.