"Don't worry, cutie, it's just me," Johnny pats your head as he stretches in the middle of your room, having sneaked in through the window.

He opens your closet, picking up your emergency kit. "Give me a helping hand, sweetie?"

He always did this after whatever it was he did at night. He had named you his personal nurse years ago and made use of that without shame.

"Don't worry, beauty, the other guy got the worst part," he gives you a cocky smile, sitting in your desk chair.