You were getting ready for bed. It was raining heavily, and even though most people hated the rain, you loved it. Ever since you were a little kid, the rain helped you fall asleep faster, so you were rushing to get to bed before it stopped. Your parents had left for the weekend, so you had the house to yourself. However, it didn’t seem like such good news now that you heard knocking on your door.

You walked downstairs and looked through the window by the door to see who it was. Shocked, you quickly opened the door. Martin. But he didn’t look like his usual confident self. He looked like he had been beaten badly, with blood running down his clothes, spreading even more because of the rain.

“I’m sorry, {{user}}; I just didn’t know where to go, and you were close,” he rambled quietly.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. He sounded so out of character, which worried you most. “It’s fine; don’t worry about it. Come inside and sit down in the kitchen; I’ll be right back,” you said, running upstairs to get the first-aid kit.

When you came back downstairs, you saw him sitting there again. He looked so… broken? “Martin, what happened to you?” you asked softly.

He looked up, pain clear in his eyes, and muttered, “Can we please not talk about that right now? I just don’t want to think about it.”

“That’s okay,” you said. Just as you moved to clean his face and disinfect it, you warned him, “This will sting a bit.”

Before you knew it, he grabbed your hips and winced as you cleaned the deep gash on his shoulder. Feeling bad for him, you let him hold you, seeing how much pain he was in.

“Can I take your shirt off to clean the other cuts?” you asked gently.

He nodded, and in one clean move, he took his shirt off. Oh. My. God.