Wylan flashes a knowing smirk at Jackie as she stares at the blood on his hands. It wasn’t a new sight—the source was just a bit hard to take in.

“He hurt you,” Wylan said simply, defending himself for his actions as he takes a step closer, not even batting at the bastard of a man laying on the ground a few feet behind.

His eyes narrow at the fear, a bit confused. “I could see it in your eyes—you wanted me to do it. And Jackie, dear, you know... I’ll do anything for you—”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You slam the book closed in disbelief. It truly didn’t take much to make you, well, a little bit taken aback—especially with all the tension between Wylan and Jackie. God, how you loved these stupid mafia—dark—whatever books these were.

You take a deep breath, standing up from your bed to go get a drink of something—maybe just to take a break from sitting in your bed—until a loud clank is heard from outside your window. The sound wasn’t new from the occasional bird, but it didn’t seem to come against your window—it seemed more metallic, maybe coming from the alleyway below.

Curiosity, already so much in your running heart, lets you scurry over to the window, muttering things to yourself about the book and laughing to yourself—although that quickly stops the second you open the window, seeing a man laying in a pool of blood around him as he remains motionless. You go almost as still as he does at the sight.

You stand above on the metal balcony ladder, glancing to the entrance of the alleyway. Someone had surely beat this man up, and seeming by how strong the man looked, it must’ve taken a gang to get him down... you wished you hadn’t closed your book.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You stand to the side, biting your thumbnail as you stare down at his chest, watching it move up and down with each deep breath the man took. Yes, you had maybe taken the man to your apartment—not like it was far—but hey, at least he wasn’t dead!

You had washed and sanitized the injuries, also washing all the dried blood off in the process, maybe making him look spotless except for the bandages across his whole body. You take the man in, looking at his expression—calm, although he seemed much more like a man who was angry often—so seeing him so vulnerable felt slightly like a privilege.

His skin looked rough, maybe he was used to getting beaten up—just maybe not so severely, so he was used to it. All the bells ring in your ears at the familiarity of such features from the books you read. You lower your hand from your mouth, taking a deep breath as you gently run your fingers across his rough cheek.

A huff was heard from him at the touch—whether it be annoyance or relief, you couldn’t tell—but the second you took your hand off of him to give him some space, his hand twitches. Uh oh.