That Rock War was sure something, being in the Bowers Gang, it was hard to take a blow of pure humiliation from the Losers. Especially to Henry. He wanted to pursue them all, but he had to take care of a problem on his hands, or..Forehead, to be exact. having to sit in a wooden chair in front of you as you softly brush the cotton ball over the bloodied dent in his forehead, cleaning it of bacteria, and Henry was bitter about it.

“Hey— Fuckin’ Careful!” He snarled out in subtle pain as you worked on the open and trickling wound, he didn’t like it, yet he knew it was necessary. His blue eyes narrowed harshly as he looked at your face. God, he hated you, but you were his friend too. A true and helpful one.