Chapter Text
Opening up the backdoor, you sigh a bit as you step into the alleyway, your trash bag full and heavy on your shoulder as you make your way down further inside it.
Dark and musty, it's awful, but if you don't throw your trash out tonight then you'll have to deal with it in the morning, meaning, waking up early... Which you really don't want to do.
Reading the numbers on the sides of the dumpsters, you find the one belonging to your block and toss it inside, huffing just a bit from the effort. You certainly aren't that athletic, and since you graduated, you've never really gone outside much either.
Not to say you never did go out, but oftentimes it was your friends who asked you and you just tagged along. Happy to be with them, but not really engaging in anything too much. It was a bit of a comfort nowadays, but you have noticed that they slowly started asking you less and less...
Maybe they were getting bored of your presence there? Watching but not acting?
Perhaps you should text one of them and ask if they want to go drinking this weekend, relax, and connect a bit... Yeah, that'd be nice.
Musing to yourself, you shut the lid of the dumpster, giving it a light tap, and turn back to the backdoor of your complex.
The door is open, but that isn't what's surprising you- there is a man, lying on his back next to the front of the alley, wrapped up in something fluffy and... Wet.
It hasn't been raining, but when it's this late at night, there shouldn't be any drunkards roaming around yet.
Then again, you are kinda in a bad part of town... But the rent is fairly cheap, and with your crud job, it was the best you could afford.
Still, you know you'd feel bad if you didn't at least check on him, maybe calling him an Uber or something if he is too drunk to get home- you could afford that, as long as you don't plan on eating lunch the next day. Maybe you'll get lucky and one of your co-workers will offer you lunch again...
Stepping lightly, you make your way towards him, quickly glancing at the door to make sure it is still propped open; just in case he was a mugger or something... You can't exactly see too much from your spot, but one thing is clear- your breath catches in your throat, and you have to hold your nose to prevent the smell from reaching you.
There is blood. Everywhere.
All over him.
You can't make much else out, the coat that is wrapped clumsily around his arms covers his torso, but you can see his face. Looking down at him, you don't catch the exact moment his eyes caught yours, but once you see them, you almost scream.
Golden eyes look up at you, fuzzy and lidded, and you know immediately that this man is dying.
Oh my God! A man is dying! You scream internally to yourself, fumbling to get out your phone, and he starts coughing- you hold your breath as you kneel down next to him, blood covering your knees as you do so.
"Fuck- what's your name-"
"If you call the police, I will die."
Fuck, how could a dying man sound so calm?
His voice is so collected, and he doesn't stutter at all, but he coughs up a bit more blood before speaking to you again.
"Just leave me here. Go back inside. Let me die here, in the trash, where I belong."
What a pessimist! Furrowing your brows, you put your phone into your back pocket, quickly shrugging off your hoodie- you keep the sleeves on, but use the rest to cover yourself as you begin to pick him up. He huffs, sounding bored and just plain uninterested, "What the hell are you doing? Let me die-"
You yell at him, doing your best to sound intimidating, "Shut the fuck up and let me do what I can- I may not be a damn hero but I can fucking help! So shut your damn mouth!"
He lets his mouth close shut, and you smirk a bit to yourself as you pull his upper body onto you, using your chest to keep him propped up as you start pulling off his messed-up jacket.
What you catch sight of nearly makes you vomit up the small snack you'd had earlier in the day- and God, the fucking smell, the scent of blood floods, no, overwhelms- your senses entirely.
Steeling yourself, you throw the jacket to the side, and he hisses in pain, though you don't see why until he flails his arms, or rather, what is left of them.
From his elbows down, he has no. fucking. arms! They are gone , severed, cut off? The flesh there is rugged and messy, so certainly no medical professional has done it...
This man is going to bleed out if you don't do something. NOW .
Your quirk was never useful for a hero. You could never be a hero. So you'd sucked it up and became a nurse, or rather, an assistant nurse, and helped with small injuries and maybe some broken bones, nothing like this...
"If you plan on doing something, you'd better do it soon..."
Ugh, what an annoying man . His messy brown hair is slicked down with sweat, and you glance at his face, where he is showing no emotions other than curiosity- like he is wondering what you would do to save a stranger that had just told you to not save him.
Fucker. Breathing through your mouth, you stick your hands onto his upper arms, gripping the ripped-up fabric there, and pull it off of him. He make a small noise at that but you ignore it, taking a small moment to take in the pale color of his skin before wrapping your hands around his biceps the best you possibly can.
This fucker is definitely tall and well-built, was he some sort of vigilante? Or just a workaholic?
Regardless of that, he began to question you, "That really isn't helping... Do you even have any medical experience? Are you quirkless or-"
"My quirk is Regeneration, or Regen for short- and I've never done anything like this before, okay? But I'm going to fucking try, I don't know why, but I'm going to fucking try!" Taking a deep breath, you feel your quirk begin working itself toward your hands, and he doesn't have another chance to talk before you quickly shove his torn-up sleeve into his mouth.
Setting your right hand back onto his arm, you push your quirk fully into his arms, willing the torn tissue there to start rebuilding itself.
Pain tears through your own flesh, and you bite on your lip to prevent your own screams as his arms begin to build themselves back up.
First , the bones- you can see the pearly white color of them, and then the striking red of his nerves and muscles begin to cover them, and you take another deep breath as his hand comes together.
It's odd, as you've never regenerated any body parts before, and it's honestly surprising to you that your quirk can even do so.
However, you're beginning to feel queasy from just the sight, so you look at his face as your quirk finishes up.
His eyes are wide, and you watch as he bites down on the bloodied fabric in his mouth- it probably hurts a lot more for him than for you, probably, you don't know for sure though.
Tears start brimming in his eyes, and his meet yours; it's only now that you dare look back down to his arms. They're limply hanging in your hands- Fuck! They must be broken . No surprise though, you both are just lucky that your quirk had even been able to do this much in the first place.
Not daring to remove the cloth inside his mouth, you shift him away from your body before taking off your hoodie to use it as a makeshift cover for his arms. You position them across his chest, wrap them up, and yet somehow your mind is already drifting away from the current situation at hand.
Where is he supposed to go now? He didn't want the cops or an ambulance, he was even willing to die here alone for some reason... You don't know why, but you just feel like you need to make sure he is okay before anything else. Maybe you could call the cops tomorrow... Call in sick to work too...
He grunts as you finish tying the sleeves of your hoodie around his back to keep his arms in place. Leaning into his frame, you feel that he is breathing rather heavily, no doubt from the pain of his arms regenerating and severe blood loss. You back away from him, look straight into his face and take out the piece of sleeve from his mouth.
He wastes no time in voicing his opinion, voice strained and soft, "Well now what? I cannot go to the police-"
"I'm taking you up to my apartment. There's no cameras, and pretty much no one else lives here, is that okay?"
He stays silent... but nods a bit.
You immediately begin to pick him up, grabbing onto his shoulders and lifting as best as you can, but he ends up just leaning his whole body against you as he gathers his legs from under himself. It's a bit awkward, and you cringe at the feeling of his blood soaking your clothes, but you have more important things to take care of.
Helping him to the backdoor- thank God you made sure it stayed open !- you move him to the wall, his eyes silently questioning you as you do so.
You've seen enough crime shows to know that leaving behind his jacket would leave evidence, so you hurry to pick it up, ignoring the blood as you sling it onto your shoulder.
It splatters against you, warm and cold alike, and your whole body shivers, but you hold in the urge to vomit once more.
Getting this man inside is more important than some damm clothes, he doesn't want to be caught, and you don't want to be caught helping him.
You make your way back to him, offering your arm to help hold him up, and he leans back into you without much hesitation.
Luckily, your hoodie stopped almost all the blood from earlier from dripping onto the ground, and as you stand in front of the stairs with him on your shoulder, he groans aloud- the first real reaction you've heard from him this whole time.
"Ugh- fuck! Do you really have to live in such a trashy dump?"
Is he rich or something? He doesn't really have that much room to talk, since, y'know, you just saved his fucking life! Ungratefulness aside, you sigh a bit, and he shuts up, rolling his eyes but stepping with you as you start walking towards the stairs.
It's awkward, and you have to hold your left hand onto the railing as you help him up, but you both manage to make it to the second floor in what seems to be twenty minutes, at least.
At the top, you both are panting from the effort, and you notice that he is trying to hide the shaking of his legs, but it doesn't compare to the quivering of your arms.
Your quirk has a big downside; as you will feel the pain of whatever injury you healed, it's usually a lot less than the actual thing though, but no matter what, it made you tired to use it. And after literally helping a man regenerate both of his fucking arms? It's safe to say you are more exhausted than you've been in years.
"Well... Where's your apartment?"
Ah, how formal... His words make you laugh a bit, and you force your legs to walk down the darkened hallway to your room.
Apartment 217 to be exact, and it's honestly one of the nicer ones in this hellhole complex you call home. He tries his best to not lean himself on you as you pull out your keys, fumbling a bit with your keychain before managing to unlock it.
You used to keep it unlocked when you went to throw your trash out, but a few weeks after moving in, you found a homeless man inside your hallway, so you decided to not do that anymore. Just didn't want to chance it, or maybe find a bum making himself at home inside your apartment or something.
Letting out a big sigh of relief as the door opens, you almost forget about the man as you step in, smelling the soft vanilla of your melted wax burner. It's comforting, and he has to cough again to get your attention.
He's looking down at your small collection of shoes by the door, and shuffling his own feet just a bit as you sit down to take off your shoes. It takes you a bit longer than you would like, but as you set your shoes beside your other ones, it suddenly crosses your mind.
He can't take off his shoes!
Embarrassment flushes your face because, despite everything, you still do have a strange man in your house, offering him inside and everything... It’s a bit much, and you get back up from the floor, before motioning him inside a bit so you can close the door.
He does so without hesitation, and you shut the door, the soft click of the lock giving you a small bit of comfort upon hearing it.
You certainly aren't proud of what you are about to do, nor do you really want to, but if you don't want to get blood, dirt, and who knows what else tracked all over your floor, you have to.
With no words, you kneel down in front of him, immediately letting your fingers work his filthy laces undone- it’s odd, and he has to bend his whole body to prop himself up while you lift his legs up’ it’s like helping a toddler untie his shoes. It makes you think of your younger cousin, but you quickly shake that thought from your head, no need to worry about that, you have a much more pressing matter to deal with now.
Standing back up with only a slight strain in your legs, you walk farther into your home without him, rushing to make a place for him to rest.
The couch will probably do, but you don’t want him getting blood on it- would it be too much to ask him to take a shower? You also need to find some bandages for him arms; hopefully they aren't broken enough to need a cast, or else you would be royally fucked in that regard. Or maybe you could set them with some makeshift stuff?
You could probably do that if you needed to...
Practically zooming across your apartment, you collect items along with your musing, a couple of towels, some cloth wrappings, your first aid kit, a bottle of rubbing alcohol along with a few other things just in case... You don’t even notice his presence until he is right in your face- or rather, he steps in front of you as soon as you turn a corner and you nearly run straight into him.
However, he seems to be a bit preoccupied, and as you stand literal centimeters from him, you follow his eyes to look at whatever is captivating him.
You’re surprised to find that he was just looking around your apartment, face still as impassive as ever, but huffing at small things here and there- the cup that you forgot on the table, an unfolded blanket on the couch from your Youtube binge the night before, a few unpaid bills on the counter- seems like he doesn't enjoy the slight mess you have going on.
How funny, he was the one who was bleeding out in a dirty alleyway only thirty-something minutes ago. You continue along, shifting the items in your arms as you make your way to the bathroom, setting the new junk down next to the bathtub and hesitating...
Calling a strange man into your bathroom, while you are alone and dirty... It really seems like some plot of a lewd show or something...
You have to shake those thoughts from your head; this guy was literally dying like an hour ago, and both of his arms are broken!
There is no possible way he could hurt you.
Distaste for your apartment or not, he is going to just have to suffer through it. It’s his fault he isn't getting proper medical attention- and even if he was a vigilante or something at this point, you'd be looped in with him regardless. Might as well patch him up a bit, you guess.
"Hey! I’m gonna clean you off here! Want it or no-" He follows the sound of your voice a little too quickly for your liking, and though his strides are slow, they are long, and he is standing at your bathroom door before you even have a chance to finish that statement.
Did he just really want to be clean, or was he jumping at the chance to get undressed in front of you? Or you'd have to undress him, seeing as he... currently can't use his hands for anything.
Sighing, you kneel down by the tub, plug it up and turn on the water, cold liquid splashing your hand for a moment before the heat finally kicks in, warm steam greeting your face soon after.
It’s a pleasant feeling, and it makes you relax just a bit more, despite him being here, you have oddly been... comfortable , the entire time.
Trusting a weird man who could have just died in your arms... How odd.
He could get you arrested now, especially if he is affiliated with any bad guys... But you can’t abandon him now.
Just hearing him saying that he wanted to be left to die... It reminded you too much of yourself, and you hate that...
Though, maybe you are projecting yourself onto him just a bit...
He's been nothing but polite and kind, not complaining ( much ) about anything, and even coming into your (also a complete stranger) apartment without any violence…
Either he really doesn't care what happens to him at this point, or... He is a serial murderer waiting for his chance to strike? The latter seems less likely now, even if he is staring literal laser holes into your back.
What sinful golden eyes he has... You wonder what all they have seen for a moment, before snapping yourself out of it.
You turn off the water and roll up your sleeves, huffing as you motion him closer.
"I'm not gonna lie, this is all probably gonna hurt a whole lot for you, so don't try and think that this is anything else but treatment, you got it?"
"Not a problem, I don't like anything filthy like that. Just help me cleanse myself- I feel like I'm dying the longer I'm covered in this crap."
Ah, so maybe he was a clean freak? Or maybe he just had some common decency!
Though, he doesn't seem to be lying to you... His voice is calm, and he doesn't make any sudden movements or anything; just keeps looking around, and looking at you.
Ignoring the slight pain of your knees as you stand back up, you set the toilet seat down, before sitting on it. You pat your thighs, and he gives you an incredulous look; like he can't believe what the hell you are suggesting.
You roll your eyes, explaining, "Come stand in front of me stranger, I'll undress you and you can get into the bath." A disgusted snort comes from his nose, and you have to hold back a short laugh, what a kid , refusing to get into the bath despite showing such a love for it. "Or you can stay caked in blood and sleep in here?"
"Fine,” he relents, somewhat, “Just leave my-"
"Boxers on, got it. Don't want to show off your junk in front of a pretty lady? I get that."
His face doesn't change from his previous bored expression, but he finally moves to stand in front of you, turning his face away from you and towards the bath.
It seems to be the only thing motivating him, and you almost feel bad for him- till you remember that it was most likely completely his fault that he had had his arms torn from his body, and all you’re doing is just a big kindness to him.
Who knows what else this man would go on to do because you decided to take mercy on him? It isn't until your hands are unclasping his belt that you feel just how cold he is, shivering but trying to contain it, trying to not show weakness?
Poor thing , but yeah, with all that blood loss and the regeneration of his limbs, no doubt he is just as tired as you are at this moment.
Still, you undress him in silence, even going as far as helping him step out of his pants before beginning to undo your precious hoodie work.
While it did a good job of keeping his arms from moving, it also did a good job of staying in place and being hard to untie.
You keep tugging at it in frustration, and he lets you do so, eyebrows up as he observes you, but he’s otherwise quiet.
It takes a few more tries, but you get it undone, and it’s only then that he begins to show... Well, something .
Exhaling loudly as you remove the black fabric from his arms, you hold them out in front of his body, trying to feel the bones inside of them. He hisses at that, and you snap without thinking, "Quit it! I can't focus if you keep trying to move them!"
Falling silent once more, but inhaling sharply whenever you move something in his arm just the tiniest bit- you feel around his wrist and fingers but find no fractures- if anything, there is mostly major bruising .
Your quirk is pretty powerful, despite how little you used it, it often healed anything to complete non-existence.
There were never any scars or the such, but those had been semi-major cuts, big bruises, maybe a few broken fingers... You had never regenerated a full limb before, let alone two, so this was all a learning experience for you.
"They don't look to be broken... But I bet they hurt like hell, huh?"
Without any warning, you grip his shirt, letting him hold his arms up, and he curses, "Fuck!" Before forcibly shutting his own mouth. Did he really think you'd hurt him or something? Or was he just trying to keep up a tough guy image?
Stepping a bit closer to him, you unbutton his ruined shirt, and help him navigate the torn sleeves off his arms, before letting it fall to the floor.
His body really is covered in his own blood, his boxers are as well, but you really don't want to be alone in a bathroom with a completely naked man.
Not today, at least.
Though you do think he is kind of... attractive. For a man of his stature, and for a man with as many bruises and as much blood on him, he has a nice body. Your eyes don't dare look below his waistline though; no need to keep yourself up with that sight in mind for the rest of your life.
"Do you think you can get in yourself? I think I have some Ibuprofen in my room..." He doesn't answer, and you leave him in the bathroom, not even bothering to close the door as you make your way to your room.
Once inside, you close the door out of habit. For some reason, you aren't worried about him being in your home, or even worried about him hurting you, so why?
Why were you so relaxed and comfortable around some stranger? Maybe it was just his.. vibe ? Cool and collected, it was naturally just... Calming...? Soothing...
You hate how he acts, his whole personality seems kinda... Snotty... Uptight… But those moments when he was dying, for real dying, right in front of your eyes... You saw the fear; the fear of death …
This man had unfinished business, but he was willing to accept his pathetic death in an unknown place with an unknown person. Did he really just not care? Or was it all some facade?
Your curiosity is getting the better of you- and your own kind heart is your own downfall. You want to know more about him, and maybe even take care of him for a bit...
Living alone for so long, it has been a bit boring honestly... He could provide the excitement your life has been lacking lately...
Not in that way!
Just... as a friend. As a bit of a... Caregiver? You have to admit, just the thought of caring for him like someone would a wounded bird was a cute idea in your mind.
Though, you really do need to ask him his name, soon, preferably. Just referring to him as 'he' and 'the stranger' or 'the man' is kind of getting weird now.
Letting out a deep breath, you make your way to your nightstand, reaching inside the small drawer for your bottle of Ibuprofen- usually, you just used it when you were sick and needed to get over it quickly, but upon checking the date on it, you found that it wasn't expired.
Lucky you, and him.
You take another deep breath to ground yourself; you'll help him clean up his body, dress him in something, and then make a bed on the couch for him. That is your goal, that is all you need to do tonight. You can call in sick for work tomorrow, and then you can stay in and rest, and maybe get a story out of the guy.
Putting the bottle into your pocket, you rummage through your closet- you are sure your friend had left a few pairs of his pants when he crashed at your house once- and you are right.
You find a couple of pairs of men's sweatpants along with a few of your old sleeping shirts, surely they’ll be big enough for his frame, though you aren't sure if they are long enough... He'll just have to deal with it, you don't have very many clothes already, and it isn't like he has a spare set around anyways.
Throwing the clothes over your right arm, you open up your door with a hushed breath, taking in the silence for a moment before stepping out. It’s a bit of a habit- you just want to make sure there wasn’t some creeper inside your home... Though espite the strange man currently inside your home already, you still did it, like a dumbass.
Mentally slapping yourself, you begrudgingly start to walk back to the bathroom. It’s not like you don't like cleaning things, but cleaning a person? An injured person?
That was something you were at least little experienced in doing, being a nurse and all, but not in your own home, and not without actual medical equipment...
You are surprised to find him sitting in the tub already, knees drawn up to his chest and holding his arms forward and straight as he can in front of his body. They probably do hurt a lot…
Sighing, you set down the clothes on the counter before filling up the cup you used to rinse your mouth with water and take out the correct dosage of pills for him.
He looks at you with an odd expression, before slipping back into his nonchalant face from before. You mumble a bit to yourself, but make your way toward him, kneeling next to the tub, casually leaning over it so you can reach his face without making him move.
"Ibuprofen, and water. You saw me get it myself, now open up." He doesn't complain, but the questioning look from earlier comes upon his face as he opens up his mouth; you pinch the medicine between your fingers and drop them in, before moving the cup to his lips and tipping it ever so slightly.
He drinks without a problem but makes a soft noise of pain as he moves his body just that tiny bit. You lean from your spot on the floor to place the cup back onto the counter and grab the scrub from the side of the tube. Pouring a good amount of body wash onto it, you lather it up in your hands a bit before stretching it above his body.
"Is it alright if I...?" You trail that question off, and he seems to understand, turning his head up as he mumbles his response.
"Just hurry up..."
Rolling your eyes, you begin to wash off the blood and dirt from his body, starting from his shoulders downwards. He keeps his arms in front of him, but at your gentle prodding, he does lower his legs from his body. You make no move to go anywhere near his crotch though, and he allows you to wash his thighs and legs, so you really appreciate that he isn't some sort of pervert...
Wouldn't most guys get turned on by something like this? That was how a lot of media nowadays made out junk like this...
But it’s nice, just washing him and getting him clean, it makes you feel like you have actually accomplished something today. Smiling a bit to yourself, you hold his arm as still as possible as you run the scrub over it, before repeating the process with the other one as well.
Over the course of the bath, his head leaned back against the shower wall, and you have to repeatedly tap his shoulder to get his attention. "Come on sleepyhead, let's wash your hair-" He opens his mouth to probably complain, but you don't even want to hear it.
"Bring your head over here and let me wash that icky hair of yours. Now ." The look on his face is priceless, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, but you can't hold back your laugh this time, chuckling at him and his face.
"What a pushover of a woman- do you really think-" Ignoring the annoyed tone in his voice, you start to laugh louder at his words, stretching both of your hands to his shoulders, before forcibly moving his body closer to yours. Bad idea, as water immediately splashes onto you from the movement, but the look on his face is worth it.
"Hey! I've gone through with everything else you've said, but this -" Putting the shampoo onto your hand, you shut him up by pouring a cup of water onto his head- effectively wetting his hair, and surprising him. You then put your hands onto his head, and lather it, despite his quiet seething.
He doesn't have nearly enough room to stretch out this way, and you nearly let yourself feel bad again, but upon seeing how adorable his crossed legs look, you have to contain another round of laughter.
His hair is rather short, and it takes you no time at all to wash it, so you reach over to the spout so you can quickly run it, then switch it to the shower mode.
Water sprays down, and you quickly back away before it begins to spray you as well.
He sputters for a moment, before forcing himself to shut up, no doubt just to spite you. Waiting until all of the shampoo and suds of soap are off of his body, you lean down to unplug the bath, letting the water drain out before turning off the faucet.
The stranger looks at you now, barely contained rage shimmering in those golden eyes of his, but you aren't afraid of them at all. This man- he is practically helpless in his current state, and even if you were probably going to be killed by him, or by someone else for just helping him, it’s worth it.
"You ready to get out, Mr. Grumpypants?"
"Get me out of here now."
"I don't really like that tone..."
" Now ."
You stand up, taking extra care to be as slow as possible while grabbing a towel before making your way back to the tub.
He seems to be irritated at not being able to see you, but you just hold the towel up with your hands, before grabbing under his armpits to help pick him up.
His gasping at the action makes you almost drop him, but he gets a hold on his feet quickly enough, and you let him stand on his own.
Steam from the impromptu shower still hangs in the air, and you are sure your face is flushed because of it, but he has the same reaction as before.
For some reason, his face is blank as he steps out, with your help, and you wrap the towel around his chest as he stands statue-still the whole while.
He has his arms outstretched on either side of him, and while you are sure that was probably painful for him, he doesn't let it show in his face, at all.
You sigh, grabbing the other towel and lifting it up to his head; he glares at you, but you just throw it on and begin rubbing away the wetness there.
He huffs loudly, "I'm tired, can you get me dressed and in bed already?" A bed? How many rooms did he think you had?
"There's only my bed though... And I'm not sharing it with some stranger I just met!" Your voice isn't very stern though, and he takes notice to the lack of authority you really hold.
"Then I guess I'll be taking it tonight, surely I can't sleep on that small couch, my arms would be pinned-"
"Perfect, that's just what you need."
"Wh-"
You remove the towel from his head, uncaring about the wet strands that are still stuck on his forehead, and make your way to the countertop, reaching for the supplies you had set aside earlier.
Grabbing the first aid kit, the medical wrappings, and the rubbing alcohol, you sit on the floor and motion for him to sit in front of you.
He does so with reluctance, eyes untrusting, but also... curious, like before. The loser probably wants to know exactly what you can do, and how you will do it. Stupid fucker... Did he think you were dumb or something?
Speaking clearly, you explain, "Put your arms in front of you, I'm going to wrap them up and then use that shirt to pin them to your body so you won't move them while you sleep, understand?"
He nods, and you continue.
"Then I'm going to dress your other minor wounds, and we can both go to sleep. I'll take the couch, only because you need the room to move while you sleep tonight. First night is most important, and tomorrow I can probably repair your arms fully, well, maybe, don't count on it. I've never done anything like this before... So..."
You look up just as his expression softens, "As long as your bed is as clean as you were before you touched me, then I think I'll be fine."
Is he really insulting you now of all times? Groaning internally as he cringes from moving his arms, you take his hand in your own before moving your whole body closer to his so you could pin it against his chest. Your right hand starts wrapping the whole cloth around it, and your left holds his arm in place while you do so.
Breathing deeply, you move with practiced ease, repeating the process with his other arm until they are both bound up against his chest.
You lean your body over to the countertop, snatching the large shirt and opening it up for his head before slam dunking it over him. He huffs in annoyance as you do so, but you ignore him, pulling the fabric down his body and over his arms- till he is effectively pinned.
Like this, it really looks like he had no arms, and it honestly makes you wonder what would've happened if you hadn't been there when you were.
Would this man be out there, slowly bleeding to death while you slept peacefully, unaware of his passing? Would he have been caught by the police by now, or would someone have found him and called an ambulance?
Thank God you were there... You'd truly saved his life... Caught up in your own thoughts, you completely miss the new expression on his face; your body is so close to his, your thigh is resting on top of the towel on his lower waist as you hold him down- despite your stature, you still held some strength in you, and he admires that about you.
However, he is pretty freaked about you having to touch his body because you are still plenty dirty, after all.
It was nothing to you to dress his smaller wounds- just little cuts here and there that you needed to clean before putting Band-Aids on them. Hello Kitty too... Hopefully he hates them...
You need time to recharge your quirk, a good meal and some rest will have you able to regenerate some of his words tomorrow. Hopefully.
Snapping out of your thoughts then, you push yourself up to grab the rest of the clothes you had gathered for him. You hold up a pair of stretchy sweatpants, and then explain, "One of my guy friends left these here, they should probably fit you, and if not, I'll use a safety pin or something..."
Moving your body away from his, you crouch in front of him, grabbing onto his shoulders to stabilize him as he gets back up onto his feet.
It is a bit odd, but you manage to not let him fall flat onto his face, and by proxy- his arms, so it was a win.
As soon as he is up though, you let go of him, your hands holding up the sweatpants, and then you realize just how... Awkward of a situation this is going to be.
Not that this whole thing wasn't weird enough, but he would truly have to use you as a stabilizer while he put his legs in- meaning, his body would be against yours, and he was all warm and slightly sticky from the bath- get your mind out of the gutter! You internally scold yourself, and shake the thoughts out of your head.
"This is gonna be a bit of an unfortunate position, but as long as you don't make anything out of it, neither will I. Got it, mystery man?" You’re just lucky that your voice doesn't give away your dirty thoughts from before, as you know you'd be a stuttering mess otherwise.
For some reason though, with this man, you don't exactly feel... Nervous? Or pressured? He lets you talk and doesn't seem one for conversation, silent and strong, despite his current state.
He huffs to acknowledge you, and you crouch down again, holding the pants legs open so he could step in- his whole body is leaned over yours, your head up against his stomach as you prop him up, and you have to thank God that you have been somewhat built up- your body may have given out otherwise.
Not strong by any hero standards- but strong enough to hold up a lean guy.
Once his left leg is through, you shift to hold open the right pant leg, and his body moves with yours, which ultimately means you have to turn your head to the side to not end up face first in his crotch- how embarrassing!
Your face burns at the thought, but you quickly calm yourself down, distracting yourself by helping to pull up the pants. It’s a bit difficult, as he really didn't dry off his legs all that well, and his boxers are wet; he had refused to take them off, after all.
Pulling the pants up his legs, you miss the look of wonder on his face as you did so, even going as far to help tie the string around his waist to help keep them up.
"My name is Chisaki, Chisaki Kai."
You hesitate a bit, but decide to go against the feeling in your gut anyways, quickly introducing yourself, “...and it's, uh, nice to meet you, Chisaki."
You muse on a bit more, unintelligible nonsense that you heard most people use when greeting, and look back to your bathtub- poor thing, you'd really have to scrub it down tomorrow- before coming back to your current situation.
"Let's go set you up for bed."
Nodding in agreement, he walks around you, heading straight for your living room.
It was odd, almost like he has already memorized the layout of your apartment…
You don't even realize how dirty you still are till now, but that can wait; your previous exhaustion is quickly returning now without any current task to keep you busy, and dammit all if your couch doesn't look like the most comfortable place ever right now.
You turn off your bathroom light before following him to where he had stopped up- right in front of your bedroom door.
Right, no hands!
So you open it up for him, and he goes straight inside, not even bothering to comment on any of your stuff before plopping down face first into your bed.
Holding back a undignified screech of horror, you follow after him, worriedly exclaiming, "Here! I'll help you get under the covers!" Why are you acting like such a maid to this man? Sure he can't really do this himself, but you've been catering to him the whole time.
Like he is an important houseguest and you need to make a good impression...
Come on, you dumbass! This man was literally on death's doorstep an hour ago, you can suck up your dumb pride for this fucker! At least until he could uhhh fucking use his arms a even the tiniest bit?
Mentally scolding yourself, you don't even notice how he has rolled over onto his back, golden eyes burning into your skin, but not saying anything.
Just watching, observing... You .
Your form, your weird musing, and the way your eyebrows are furrowed as you argue with yourself.
"Don't mean to interrupt, but I feel as if I should ask you to cover me up or something? There's quite a chill, and-"
"Ah, right, s-sorry!" Not wasting another moment, you grab your untucked duvet- pulling some of it out from under him, before throwing the whole thing on top of him.
You check to make sure his head isn't covered, and luckily, the whole thing is long enough to cover his body, feet, and all.
Standing there, you find the whole thing to be pretty nerve-wracking; he is covered up, in your bed, in your blanket, and you are going to sleep on your own couch? Pathetic.
"Do you need anything before I go to sleep as well...?"
"No, I don't need anything. You may go and rest now."
What a motherfucker... Talking to you like he was the boss or something! Who exactly did this guy think he was?
Chisaki Kai certainly didn't sound like any high-ranking name you'd heard of- and since he was literally going to die in an alleyway just a little while earlier, he really should have no right to talk that way anyways...
Still, you don't respond, scoffing just the smallest bit at him before absolutely booking it to your couch.
You always keep a spare blanket on it, and you can feel the soft plush fabric enveloping your body already- practically crashing onto it, you grab the blanket and pull it over your tired, dirty, and absolutely drained body.
Just as the pain starts to settle in, your whole body goes numb, and you pass out right there, not even caring that some stranger- Chisaki, could maybe possibly murder you in your sleep.
You don't care about anything but sleeping at this moment, and it’s nice. The warmth, the darkness, everything, it is nice .
And you never want to leave your couch again.