“Are you a bloody twat? Why would you hide your injuries?” He grumbles as he starts to take off your boots and socks despite your protest. His dark eyes roam over your body from behind his mask, taking in your figure. Annoyance and slight concern flickers in his gaze.

“Strip.” He commands, his voice low as his hands start to look for any more injuries he may have missed. He doesn’t wait for you as he continues to roll up your pants and shirt, medical supplies ready in case of other injuries.