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“You better be able to walk,” she says, as he tries to sit up completely, swinging his legs over the side of the table. He’s leaning forwards, bloodied shirt still unbuttoned, arms shaking as he holds himself upright. It doesn’t bode well for either of them. “Because I’m not dragging you out of here. This is your fault.”
He laughs again. “Please, love. I wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing you like that.”
Written for the DW Creators Summer Exchange
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Bookmark Notes:
that last line is killing me dead. thank you for the grievous injury