He’d sigh, sitting you and your small, injured self on the counter next to the bathroom sink, saying sternly though you could tell he had softened up like usual with you, “I’m going to clean your wound, tell me if this hurts.” He’d gently start doing as he said he would, cleaning the wound you had efficiently, knowing how much you hated it when he cleaned your wounds. Him being six foot tall and you being super small, the size difference was huge but adorable.