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It was supposed to be a cozy end to a rather mundane day. Rather than venturing out, you’d decided to stay close to home.
You were nestled in your chair, knees tucked in, with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and a hardcover on your lap. Your fingers lifted the page, ready to flip onwards to the next chapter, when a heavy THUD! rammed against the front of your house. It shook the glass in the window panes.
You let out a scream as you leapt out of the chair. The book dropped to the ground, the blanket following after.
You stand there, convincing yourself that you might have imagined it.
Maybe you missed placing a torch down, and a sliver of darkness managed to lure in a zombie. You didn’t want to believe that you had another entity lurking around your house.
Then, softly. So very softly that you almost missed it because of your heart beating roaring in your ears, there was a knock. The single tap only added to your unease. Before you moved towards your axe, you heard another knock, but it wasn’t *his* knock. It sounded more like a slap against wood than a knock. A low groan followed.
Shit.
You rushed towards the door, swinging it open, and you froze once again.
The Knocker leaned heavily against the doorframe, a trail of red behind him. His breathing was ragged and uneven. The energy to get to your house nearly spent what little strength he had left. His hand was soaked in his own blood, pressed firmly against a jagged tear on his black robe where he had been slashed across the chest.
Yet when he raised his head and saw the look of shock on your face, his eerie grin only widened.
“Hiya Bunny,” he wheezed. “How’s it going?” His smile stretched into a grimace, trying to mask the pain he was in. When you didn’t respond, the smile dropped. “Bunny don’t… don’t look so scared. It’s not that bad. Promise!”
You rushed towards him without another thought.
You wrapped his free arm around your shoulder, allowing him to lean against you for support. Carefully, you guide him into your house and into the chair you were just sitting in. He let out a heavy exhale, his head leaning backwards.
That bleeding was not slowing down. You had to stop it.
Giving The Knocker one final glance, you scrambled towards a cabinet under your stairs. Your medical supplies were stored there - linen bandages, potions, dried herbs. With trembling hands, you grabbed anything that could be useful and dashed back to The Knocker. His eyes were half-lidded, sweat running down his temples.
“I’m going to have to peel open your clothes to get to that cut,” you stated, pulling the scrap of fabric to reveal more of the cut. It was a clean slash that started underneath his right collarbone and traveled down to his ribs. Shallow. Manageable. No stitching required. “Can you move your hand?”
He lifted his hand, his face pinched in pain. You pressed the linen down on the cut to put pressure on the spot.
Stop the bleeding, dress the wound, he’ll be okay. Stop the bleeding, dress the wound, he’ll be okay. Stop the bleeding, dress the wound, and he will be okay.
That became your mantra, your guiding light as you worked.
You ignored how stained your hands were with his blood, how tacky your skin felt, how the color was the same shade as the poppies he once gave you a bouquet of.
You tossed them back at his feet and he laughed at you.
Now there would be smears of blood on the potion you grabbed, pulling the cork open. The potion would dull the pain and fight against infection. Then you tipped it towards his cracked lips, watching his throat work as he swallowed it. The Knocker coughed twice - you counted. One, two. You pulled back, setting the potion down. With the sleeve of your shirt, you wiped his mouth.
“Y’take care of me so well, Bunny,” praised The Knocker. “All I need is a kiss and I’ll feel all better.”
“I am not kissing you.” You were in disbelief that he wasn’t taking his injury so seriously. Then again, at the sound of your words, his grin dropped.
“No kiss? Not even a little one?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“I said no.”
“Awh, c’mon! A kiss would heal me faster than any potion you brew.” The Knocker exhaled, almost sounding like a laugh.
You look into the void of his pained eyes. He was trying to be playful. He was trying to lighten the tone and maybe assure you that he was going to be fine. Leaning forward, you pull his hood back and push his hair aside, giving you enough space to press your lips on his forehead. It was not a real kiss.
The Knocker let out another breathless laugh. “Thank you, Bunny.”
You nod, relieved that you didn’t leave blood on his forehead from your hands. It was drying on your palms, your fingers. You lifted your hands, clenched them into fists, then loosened them.
“Bunny?”
Blinking, you drop your hands down. “Yeah?”
“You hopped off somewhere in that head of yours.”
“I’m fine. Just thinking,” you said, though you felt far from fine. “What happened to you? How did you get that?” You changed the subject - you weren’t the one injured.
The Knocker smiled, glancing down at the bandage around his chest. “Got myself into something way over my head. Nothing like our little spats.”
That explained nothing.
“So you weren’t attacked by another human?”
“It’s a long story, and I really don’t want to get into it now.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I’ll tell you when I am feeling better.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
In other words, The Knocker was going to keep this a secret from you, just as he did with most things that revolved around him.
“I should clean the blood off,” you mumbled to yourself more than him, going over to your sink. You began to pump water until a steady stream came out, and you stuck your hands in. The cold was a shock at first, but you didn’t care about the temperature. Instead, you watched the water carry remnants of The Knocker’s blood down the drain. You turn your head over your shoulder.
Would he still be there? Or would he disappear? You hoped he stayed, at least until he seemed a little better. The Knocker vanished into thin air on a whim. You were powerless to stop his disappearances.
Relief surged through you when you saw that he was still in your chair. He was sitting up now, a finger tapping on the armrest. He shifted, and you briefly made eye contact with him before turning back around.
“Just washing my hands. Be back in a second to get you cleaned off.”
“You aren’t going to finish the job?”
You jerked around. “What?!”
“Perfect opportunity. I’m weak. I’m vulnerable.”
You keep quiet. You grab a bowl instead and place it in the sink as you pump water onto it. “I don’t think I can kill you.” You finally respond.
“I know.”
It was good your back was turned to him otherwise he would’ve seen your eyes roll. “But whatever got you - can that kill you?”
“Kind of. Again, a long story that I don’t want to get into right now.” He let out a hum as you returned to his side with the bowl of water. His eyebrows raised. “I should get myself injured more often if I get the special Bunny treatment.”
You set the bowl down on a table, taking one of the linen wraps and dipping it into the water. “Why did you come here?”
“Why did I come here?” The Knocker echoed.
“Yeah, why did you come here? To my house?” You pulled back the fabric more, exposing his chest. Gently, you dab away the blood.
“It’s a - ,” he started.
“Long story I know,” you finished for him. “Another little secret. Another way to drive me absolutely bonkers.” When you look at linen and see his blood again, that coil in your gut returns.
“Before you interrupted me, I was going to explain that.” The Knocker winced when you pressed too hard near the cut. It made you flinch. “Little rough there.”
“Sorry, sorry.” You reeled back your hand. “This is all… sudden.”
“Sudden,” The Knocker chewed on the word, nodding his head in approval at your choice of word. “Yeah, I suppose it is sudden.”
“You don’t come here like that. Hurt.” You gestured to his injury, the bandages. He never came to your doorstep, pleading that he was alright. He never came to your doorstep for help.
He shrugged. “Well, the circumstances were out of my control and I had no choice but to come here.”
“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not. It never is.”
“So tell me. Please.” You were growing impatient. You dunked the linen back into the bowl, ringing it out. Droplets trickled too loudly for your liking; the water now had a pinkish hue.
“I knew that if I came here, I would be safe.”
You bought yourself time to formulate a response by dabbing away more of his blood. “Really? Here safe with me?” You force a smirk - you didn’t quite believe him. “Even after all the times I lodged an axe in you?” He never bled out when you did that, you noticed. You assumed he was not this close to a human.
“I’d prefer that, actually.”
“I will be more than happy to fetch it.”
“No, no. Don’t trouble yourself, Bunny. You’ve done so much for me. Wouldn’t want to trouble you anymore for anything.” The Knocker was teasing, but for the first time, you saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “I like you tending to me.”
You couldn’t say the same. You were doing your best not to be so squimish as you continued to dab away the blood from his chest. Smelting iron was going to trouble you for a long time, the scent of blood embedded in your memory. You pressed too hard again accidentally, and The Knocker winced, air sucking through his black teeth.
“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I am not good at this.”
“You’re better at being a nurse than I am. Was never really the healer type.”
You allowed yourself a moment to muse over the thought of The Knocker tending to someone’s wounds so gingerly as you were, before returning to dabbing. “I just do what needs to be done. And you need to be cleaned up.” Your other hand touched the frayed ends of his robe. “We should take this off.”
Before The Knocker could remark with a snarky comment, you shot him a glare, your jaw clenched.
“Don’t.” You warned.
“I didn’t even - “ He began to protest.
“I said don’t.” Your tone shut him down.
You pulled his robe back further until it hung loosely around his shoulders. You realized that the hood was not attached to the robe. A cowl still hooded his head. “Save it for another day when you are not bleeding out in my house.” He shifted enough for you to get an arm out, then the other. You fold the robe and toss it to the side. It could be dealt with later.
“Think it’s going to scar?” The Knocker asked. You glanced down at his chest, leaning down and fingers hovering over the linen before trailing down an inch.
“Maybe?” You look around at the expanse of his upper body, trying not to linger any longer than medically necessary. “I’ll have to take another look when I change your bandages.” His skin had no pigment. He was so white. No body hair. Just muscle. Not overtly - lean muscle that was strong enough to pin you down, to grasp your wrist and refuse to let you go, to carry an axe wherever he went.
“If you keep staring at me like that, Bunny, you are going to make me flustered.”
“I am just,” you started sharply, but your voice soon tapered off. “I am just… assessing your injury.”
“Assessing,” he repeated lazily.
“Yes, assessing.”
“And you assess that…?”
“I assess that I am not sure whether you are going to scar or not!” You muttered, glancing at his chest once more. “I’m not a doctor. I don’t know how to heal anything other than cuts and scrapes and burns.” You dunk the linen back into the bowl before picking it up.
“Don’t look so mad, Bunny.” The Knocker leaned back into the chair, letting out a dragged-out sigh. “Give me an hour and I’ll be out of your hair.”
You stopped abruptly. Water sloshed over the side of the bowl. You turned back around. “An hour? Are you serious?”
“Yes. An hour.” His tone was trying to grasp onto that familiar playfulness, though the grim truth was apparent. “I appreciate you bandaging me up and feeding me a potion; however, all of your generosity was not exactly… needed.”
Your mouth was agape. You snapped it closed before you were going to lose it. You turned around, slamming the bowl down in the sink with unnecessary force. Water splashed all over your hands and arms, but you didn’t care. You were fuming.
“So you’re fine? You are going to be fine?”
“Yes.” His voice softened. “My body heals itself. Always has since I became the way that I am. Wasn’t sure that anything could kill me, but then I ran into that thing and, well.” He let out a breathless laugh that made you turn back around to see him. The smile was pained for a different reason.
“I needed a safe place to recuperate, and I had a feeling that you were home, so I came here. I knew that I could be safe around you.”
“What - what about that thing?!”
“It won’t come here. It was in worse shape than I was.” He smirked. “If it makes you feel better, I can hang around in case it tracks me down here.”
“No!” Your voice rose. “No! I don’t… I don’t want you here. I don’t want you here lying to me about your injuries. I don’t want you bringing me more trouble than I can deal with. I don’t want you around me.”
“Bunny -.”
“And stop calling me that!” You snapped. “I’m not an animal. I’m not some frightened creature you bully. I am a person.”
You were crying. A frustrated tear ran down your cheek. Swiping it away, you stood in place, glaring at The Knocker. Slowly, so slowly, he rose from the chair with a grunt and moved towards you. You instinctively took a step back.
“If you only knew what was going through my head when I saw you on my doorstep,” you whispered, no longer wishing to shout at him. There was no point. Your anger was radiating off your skin. “How scared I was. If I only knew you were just messing with my head again, I would’ve slammed that door and locked it.”
“I’m sorry.” He held back his pet name for you, but you could tell that it was right on his lips. He wanted to say it. “I’m so sorry.”
“And despite that, you still would’ve found a way to barge in.” You continued. “Somehow you always find a way back to me.”
“I have to.” The Knocker took each step lightly towards you, afraid that you would get spooked like the small creature he thought you were. “I had to. In case it took a turn for the worse.” He gestured to the bandage. “Your axe could never do this to me. You could never harm me in the same manner as it did.”
His hand rose to cup your cheek. You flinched, jerking back. “Stop.” Your voice lacked the ire you would raise towards The Knocker. When he scared you, when wake you up at night, when he would stalk you. When he feigned how truly hurt he was.
“I knew you would be home,” he started. “I knew that you would be sitting in that chair, reading some book until late at night and you’d look out that window searching for me.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. You have a little routine that I’ve memorized.” The Knocker lifted his eyebrows. “You look out that window there, and you wonder if I’m going to show up.”
“It’s just to be sure that I can go to bed in peace.” You finally yank your face away from his palm, his lingering touch on your cheek, before you put your own hand there.
“You look for me, and you get worried when I’m gone for too long. You start moping around. You don’t leave the house. The area. You get confined to such a small space, like you’re making your own cage.” The Knocker said, giving you a frustrated smile. “The image of staring at your window, waiting for someone who would never come back - that’d haunt me, Bunny.”
You want to call him a liar. The word burned in your throat, but the truth was dangling right in front of you. The way your body tensed, how you were clenching your fists so hard that your knuckles turned white.
You were denying the obvious. Both of you knew it. The silence stretched thin between you and The Knocker. You stood there, trembling with your fists as you tried to make sense of his logic.
While he was out there fighting some unknown creature - knowing that he may die to it - he had been thinking of you. He wanted to give you an answer, any answer, just to stop you from wondering about him.
And tonight, after being gone for so long, he gave you an answer.
He was fine. Hurt, but fine. His obsession with you would persist, much to your annoyance.
And so would yours.
“I’ll leave.” He grabbed at your fists, rubbing a thumb over the knuckles, urging you to relax.
“Where… where are you going to go?” You only became more apprehensive.
“I need a new change of clothes. Damn thing tore up my clothes.” His laughter was grim. “You had enough excitement for one night.” Letting your hands go, he pulled off the linen bandage you metaciously wrapped around him.
The slash was healed in an unnatural state. What would take weeks for a human had only taken minutes for The Knocker. The wound scabbed up, leaving only a thin line that would disappear when the hour was up. Part of you wanted to touch it to be sure that you did not conjure an illusion of a bleeding entity.
It was real. Tonight was real.
The blood was real, the hands holding yours were real. The tears falling down your cheeks were real.
“Awh, Bunny. You don’t need to cry. I’ll be okay. Won’t be gone for too long.” He lifted your hands. They were near his lips. “Promise I will be back in the morning.”
“Just leave.” You pulled your hands away from his grasp. He let you go.
“Bunny.”
“Go! Leave! Stop calling me that and go!” You moved away from The Knocker and towards the chair, where you knelt to collect the medicinal items scattered on the floor.
“Bunny.” His tone lowered. “Bunny you gotta understand.”
“I understand all that I need.”
“No, you don’t. You cannot possibly understand just how you consume me. You cannot fathom the risk I took to crawl on my knees and see that you were safe. You had your blanket, you had a book. The door was locked. That’s how I want you to be. Safe, comfortable. Even if I were dying, if that damn thing gutted me from the bottom up, I would still make my way back to you and die at your feet so you never stay up late waiting for me. I never want to leave you alone.” The Knocker did not follow you. He remained rooted, watching you gather bandages and potions.
You moved past him as if he wasn’t there.
When you placed the items back in the cabinet, you turned around, and The Knocker was gone.
You slumped to the ground, your hands covering your face to muffle your sobbing.
The Knocker returned to you that morning with a bouquet of poppies.
They were beautiful, but the color was a reminder of last night. What you saw, even when your eyelids were closed.
You took them without saying a word, but the door was open for him. You placed them in a vase, fluffing them up. The petals were smooth as silk against your fingers. An image of last night flashed in your head, and you quickly suppressed it.
On a different chair, there was a blanket draped half-hazrdly on the back and a book on the seat. You wrap the blanket around your shoulders before picking up the book and sitting down in the chair. You flip it open back to the page you were reading.
The Knocker had moved towards you. You could see him lurking in your peripheral vision. He knelt at your feet. His head lowered into your lap, hesitant at first. You did not look up from your book. He relaxed, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. Your eyes peered over the book, seeing that The Knocker had closed his eyes.
The hand that wasn’t holding the book rested on his head and began to stroke him in slow movements.
He was truly at peace.
You were unsure of what was going to happen. All you knew was that you had the attention of The Knocker, and he would never let you go. Not even death would stop him.
Yet, you found yourself relieved he was here. And you liked petting his head.