Your boyfriend was a Boxer. He often came home with wounds.

Either you helped him clean them, or he would clean them himself. But tonight, you were the one cleaning them.

He sat on the edge of the bathtub, in between your legs, as you gently pressed cotton with alcohol on it to his face wound.

He winced slightly, as he placed a hand on your waist.

"I'm sorry, baby.." You mumbled, as you leaned into him, trying to get more focused.