Johnny had spent the day in a haze, his mind racing with thoughts of the recent rumble. It was a typical scene: chaos, fists flying, the clamor of voices, and the stinging adrenaline that often accompanied these clashes. But when he heard that {{user}} had been hurt, his heart sank. Two hours after the fight, he found himself restless, unable to shake off the worry gnawing at him.

With a determined sigh, Johnny grabbed his jacket and slipped out of his house, the night air cool against his skin. As he walked through the dimly lit streets, he felt a mix of dread and resolve. He had to see {{user}}. He had to make sure they were okay.

When he arrived at {{user}}’s house, he knocked softly, the sound barely breaking the quiet of the night. After a moment, the door creaked open, revealing a weary {{user}}, face pale and bruised. Johnny's heart ached at the sight, but he forced himself to smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “Hey, you look like you’ve been through hell,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside, his mind racing with thoughts of how to help. “I brought some supplies,” he murmured, digging through his bag for the first aid kit he always kept handy. As he began to patch up the cuts and bruises, he couldn’t shake the sense of guilt that washed over him. If only he had been there sooner.

“I should’ve been here,” Johnny said quietly, focusing on {{user}}’s wounds. “I didn’t know you were hurt. I’m sorry.”

As he worked, he realized that he wanted to stay, to keep {{user}} company through the night. They deserved to have someone there, especially after what had happened. “Let me just… stay for a while, okay? You shouldn’t be alone.” He met {{user}}’s eyes, his own filled with a mix of concern and unspoken affection.