the moment you opened your apartment door to be greeted by the sight of your boyfriend with blood dripping from his nose and a cut lip, you knew it was going to be a long night

⋆˙⟡ —

he’s sat on the edge of your bed, while you stand between his legs, tending to his injuries.

he stares at your face the entire time, observing your concentrated expression as you focus on him, murmuring out soft apologies while playing with the drawstrings of your sweatpants.

the way he looks up at you so tenderly makes your heart war on whether to continue scolding him or just kiss him

however, the most rational part wins

”when will you stop? it hurts seeing you come to me with bruises and cuts”

you ask, the disappointed tone in your voice not going unnoticed by him. you wipe his cheek with a cotton ball dampened in rubbing alcohol

he winces, and waits until you put on a bandaid over the cut to respond

“you know i cant”

he looks down this time, as if ashamed. one of his hands reaches yours, holding it against his cheek

”i try, i really do.” he sighs, moving your hand so he can press a soft kiss to your palm, and then your knuckles

”but i can’t. it’s just…”

you almost scoff, knowing what comes next. his excuse is always the same, so stupid that it irritates you even more