He winces as you pat his wounds down with a cotton ball doused in alcohol, cringing slightly. Another day, another chaotic injury handed out, he figures. Only this time the injury was given to him, which.. okay.

He practically pouts as you tell him to stop flinching, giving you a glare that didn’t do much other than make you laugh. That earned you another glare that told you that maybe now wasn’t the best time to be laughing at him, and that was fair.

“I just..” He sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve seen people die, and sometimes I just think.. ‘hey, what if today is the day I die?’” He confesses softly, squeezing your thigh as you began stitching his gashes carefully.

“Not that I’m always thinking of my demise, I’m not. I just think that.. that maybe y’know, the more I’m there the less likely it is that I’ll live. And I don’t always think I’m gonna die, in fact I think I’m well protected. At least sometimes.”

He glanced at you with a more gentle expression, his features softened. Deep down he was truly a sweetheart, no doubt.

“I’ve seen people die. It’s crazy. I.. I don’t know what drives another person to kill someone without feeling guilt later. Have I thought about killing people? Okay, maybe, but that’s my environment to be fair. And I always feel guilty later for thinking that!” He protested, arguing with himself.