“you are so damn stupid sometimes.” his voice has dipped into a low growl minutes ago, after large, gloved hands had grasped both your wrists and practically yanked you somewhere safe to patch you up.

he tugs a little too tight on the bandages, face scrunched into a seemingly permanent scowl— but not at you. just the fact that you’re sitting here, bleeding. right in front of him.

you try to move.

“don’t,” he nearly snarls.