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You open your door, only to see a looming figure in the cool night.
"H-Hey, sorry to b-bother you this l-late... The figure stutters, and you recognize the voice. He promptly falls forward, and you manage to catch him.
"Herm!" You call out as you struggle with his tall frame, and he whimpers in pain. He's all beat up, the water pooling at his feet streaking with blood.
"What happened?!" You ask as he slowly peels himself off you, swaying lightly. You let him inside, making him sit by the doorway. You sit between his sprawled legs and take his face in your hands, wiping the blood on his eyes from a cut on his hairline.
"B-Bit more than I c-can swallow- no, c-chew." He answers weakly, breathing shallow. You clench your teeth at his reply.
He was on the night shift, and you had already tucked Mrs. Wells to bed and returned to your apartment next door. You rush to the kitchen to get some towels and a first aid kit.
You wipe a towel to clean his face, which was washed in red from that slash at his hairline. His lip is busted, his nose is broken, and purple bloomed on an eye swollen shut.
"What did they do to you?" You ask sadly.
"J-Just a beating..." He slurs as he leans on your door, his earpiece falling off. You hear someone talk faintly from it, and place it in your ear. You say hello.
"Hey, you uh, know Herman?" The voice crackles. Deep, but a little strained.
"I'm his neighbor, I help him take care of his grandma. What happened to him?"
"I'm his dispatcher, Robert. I sent him on a call, just to clear out some kids doing graffiti, but he got ambushed by some gang. He's lucky to not get captured. I told him to return to the office for medical attention, but he wanted to end his shift early and go home since he was nearby."
You chew on your lip, your brow furrowed. Herman pants softly from the pain, clutching his chest with a shaky gloved hand. He leans back, his head thudding on your door.
"He's in bad shape." You tell Robert, and he sighs on the other end, humming in agreement.
You move closer to catch the zipper of his wetsuit with your fingers, and he gasps. His good eye widens at you, stuttering about exposing himself. You shake your head.
"You're hurt, and we need to clean you up. Getting shy won't help." You tell him curtly, yanking the zipper down. You take his gloves off and open his suit wider, finding purple blotches forming on his pale skin.
"God, Herm, they really did a number on you." You mutter, slipping his suit off his shoulders and arms. It strangely feels like peeling a banana, and the wet fabric bunches on the floor. He instinctively brings his arms to the front albeit weakly, and you push them gently away. He only makes unintelligible words and sad noises as he tries to stay conscious.
You give him an up-down look, taking note of the damage. You sigh a little and get to work, thankful for your stocked first aid kit. You clean the blood off him and apply antiseptic on his wounds. He hisses a bit, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat right after. You offer a quick apology, moving quickly to dress the wounds.
"Your legs, how are they?" You ask, placing your hands on his knees stretching on either side of you.
"They're o-okay... I t-think... Not b-broken, at l-least..." He manages. You trail your eyes over his still-clothed legs, checking for cuts. You run your palms on them, feeling for anything weird and listening if he reacts to pain. He gasps at the contact, and you whip your head back at him, your face asking if it hurts there.
"No, u-um, my l-legs are fine- okay... F-Feet too... I... You're..." He stutters, voice barely above a whisper.
"I still have to check." You tell him, but feel nothing of note. You move to sling one long arm over your shoulder, prompting him to stand. You help him to your worn couch, and he groans as he sits.
"Where does it hurt?" You ask, kneeling to take his shoes off.
"E-Everywhere... Even my s-socks..." He mutters.
You pull said socks off and stand to gather the fabric bunched at his hips. He looks up at you, pupil dilating. You just raise your eyebrows.
"Come on, Herm. We gotta get you out of this." You say, tugging at the wetsuit. He gulps audibly but complies, planting his palms on the couch to support himself as he lifts his hips up. You get the wetsuit off his legs and he brings his knees closer to himself, embarrassed about just having his underwear on. You turn around and get a fleece blanket from a hallway closet.
You come back and he extends a hand for the blanket, but you go the extra mile, unfurling it and putting it over him. You notice his flushed complexion, and you quickly bring a hand up to test his temperature.
"You burning up?" You ask, but he shakes his head no. You just nod and hear a crackle, realizing you still have his earpiece on.
"He doing alright?" Robert asks.
"Oh, um, I've done my best, Mr. Dispatcher. His wounds are dressed and I got a blanket on him."
Robert thanks you and promises to send a medic to check him properly in the morning. He also adds that Herman gets a day off tomorrow, to help him recuperate. You request that the medic comes over discreetly, and preferably before his grandma wakes up. Robert agrees. You thank him and the earpiece goes off. You take it out and place it on the coffee table.
"Your dispatcher's thoughtful." You say to Herman after relaying what Robert said.
"Yeah. R-Robert's really g-good... Kind, to m-me." He replies, voice a little steadier now.
You sit beside him, and he turns to you. He realizes he made a mess on you with his water and blood.
"Oh g-god, I'm s-sorry... You're all w-wet and b-bloody..." He stammers, but you shake your head.
"Hey, it's okay. It's nothing, really." You say, smiling at him. He smiles back with a bit of effort, and it makes a wrinkle appear on your brow. He blinks, his own brow raising in concern.
"Herm, listen, I... I worry. Your job... It gets you hurt, and... Mrs. Wells..." You start, not knowing how to approach what you mean.
"I h-have to, I'm... It's w-what... H-Heroes do..." He croaks.
"I know, but... You'll break her heart if she sees you like this, Herm. This... Or worse." You say with effort, and he looks at you with his good eye open wide. He understands what you mean, and he nods slowly.
"I know mine did." You breathe out, barely audible, but he catches it. He blinks, and you only press your lips in a tight line, not meeting his gaze.
"Y-You..." He starts, but his words fail him when you reach for his cheek. You finally look up at him, his lips parting when he sees tears forming, heavy and glistening. The adrenaline has worn off, and you take a shaky breath.
"You scared me." You say, choking on a sob. You lean your forehead on his shoulder, and you feel him wrap an arm around you, slender fingers shaking on your arm.
"I'm sorry." He whispers, his shoulders dropping. You pull back and straighten up, but his arm remains wrapped around your back.
"I know. I just..." You trail off, and you feel his fingers squeeze your arm gently. You turn back to face him, and you both hold a quiet look for a good minute.
His lashes flutter as his gaze drops to follow a fat tear streaking down your cheek. He brings a thumb to wipe it away, making a small shushing sound as he does. He pauses, then places his hand to your cheek, and you lean into it with a sigh. You hold his hand in place, turning your head to kiss his palm.
He freezes at the intimate gesture, but his thumb keeps wiping tears from your face. He turns his body to use both hands, his breath hitching when you also kiss the other palm.
"I don't know what I'll do if... If..." You trail off, but your throat tightens and fresh tears blur your vision.
"I know. I'll do my best to come home every night." He says, his stutter disappearing as he tells you something he's so sure about. He opens his mouth again to add to his statement.
"I promise. I'll come home. To grandma, and... To you."