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The whole thing stemmed from an admittedly poor decision. About as poor a decision as the one made by whoever decided that practice should involve actual and very sharp knives. Truthfully though, he only had himself to blame for how he was knocking on your door instead of resting at home despite how his body had gone through the wringer and then some today.
Not only did he have the usual myriad of bruises, but this time he even sported a knife wound on his right side, courtesy of one of his fellow unit members. A rather brutish fellow who seemed to make it a point to partner with Leon and try to knock him down a peg. Evidently he didn’t like Leon’s attitude, often scoffing that Leon was too “cocky.”
Really, the guy just couldn’t take a joke.
Unfortunately for that guy, Leon was rather tenacious and made a point to win more than he lost. And to come up with new quips to annoy the fellow with. An all-around win-win in his book.
It was just that he had also planned on seeing you tonight, had planned on picking up Chinese take-out and watching a movie with you. A very normal couple thing which seemed like an excellent idea to Leon after how long his week had been. The smart thing would have been to cancel or reschedule and stay home recovering. However, seeing you had become an ingrained ritual by this point.
Not only that, but somehow the thought of not seeing you hurt more than the bodily aches and pains.
And so there he was outside your apartment, waiting for you to answer the door and steeling himself not to react to any sudden spikes of agony. You tended to get worried about him when you picked up on his injuries. As much as he appreciated the concern and your soft touch when checking something he couldn’t hide from you like a split lip, that didn’t mean he liked making you worry.
When the door opened on your smiling face, he momentarily forgot all about his physical ailments. He didn’t necessarily understand how but you somehow managed to make even a casual outfit like a T-shirt and sweatpants look pretty, especially with your hair done up in a messy bun. Instead of his body complaining about the day’s events, all he could think about was how much really wanted to kiss you.
Then you hugged him and his body seized as you somehow managed to activate several bruises and the knife wound all at the same time, a stifled grunt reverberating in this throat.
You pulled back immediately, your touch suddenly barely there around him and your brows drawn. “Leon? Are you okay?”
“Never better,” he said lightly in reflex.
Your brows inched higher skeptically. You didn’t have to say it but he could hear your voice in his head.
Really, Leon?
“Okay, I’ve admittedly been better,” he amended. “I’m okay, though. No need to worry.”
You stepped back to let him inside. As you did so, your eyes roved over his body as though you were looking for the injuries his clothing hid. At the same time, you slipped your hand into his to take the bag of Chinese food from him.
“Sorry for throwing myself at you,” you said quietly.
Before he passed you, he swooped down to give you a quick but lingering kiss on the lips. “Well, normally I quite enjoy when you throw yourself at me,” he said with a grin.
You cracked a smile. “Oh, don’t I know.”
As was tradition, the pair of you sat cross-legged on the floor in your living room on either side of the low coffee table, a spread of American-Chinese delicacies laid out between the pair of you. The perfect mix of what you both liked. All in all, the dinner part of the night went pretty well. Leon even managed to get down and off the floor without incident. He moved gingerly but it was all manageable.
That all came abruptly to an end when he dropped himself a little too carelessly onto the couch.
Instantly, he was leaning over the armrest, hand to his screaming side and hissing through his clenched teeth. “Fuck!”
You all but ran out of the kitchen, eyes wide and bright with concern. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Despite his other arm being partially pinned between his body and the arm of the couch, he waved that hand at you and forced a smile onto his face. “Nothing, just sat down a little funny.”
You chewed your lip as you came to kneel in front of him. “You sure? That didn’t sound very good.” Your eyes latched onto where he held his side. “I can check it for you.”
“Didn’t know you wanted to play nurse tonight,” he quipped, trying and failing to keep the strain from his voice. “I’m fine.”
Again, a dismayed look from you. He was doing a poor job of convincing you that he was, relatively speaking, fine. Given the searing pain in his side, he was perhaps less than fine at the moment.
“Okay, okay, do what you will with me, doctor.”
Your lips formed a half smile.
You ferried him into the nearest bathroom until he was backed into leaning against the counter. With cautious fingers, you reached for the hem of his shirt with freshly washed hands.
“May I?”
Leon nodded and let his head fall back. Better to do that than to watch you. Even with the prickles of pain ripping through him, he wasn’t sure he could observe you leaning around his chest and partially undressing him without getting an inconvenient hard-on. In his defense, you tended to get this look of concentration on your face when examining him that, regardless of the circumstances, was incredibly attractive.
“I thought we’d established that you don’t even have to ask if you want to take my clothes off,” he joked, fixing his gaze on the ceiling.
You laughed, which put him at ease.
He felt your hands near his hips and tried not to think about it too much as your cool fingers slipped under the hem and raised it until nearly his pecs. As usual, he marveled at the softness of your hands—so gentle compared to his calloused ones. He heard the sharp inhale you took through your nose as you found probably more than just the bruises on his left side.
“Leon, you’re bleeding through these band-aids,” you breathed in shock. “Your shirt’s wet with it.”
“Looks like I picked the right choice when I gabbed a dark shirt, then.”
You scoffed and he easily imagined you rolling your eyes. “Stay right here. I need to get a few things.”
Leon rolled his head down to watch as you left the bathroom. You returned a few moments later with a rather fancy looking medical kit in hand.
“You’re awfully prepared,” he remarked.
You cracked a half smile. “Well, it occurred to me a while back that it’s best to be prepared when your boyfriend seems to have a penchant for getting himself beat up.”
“I’ll have you know that I won,” he pointed out.
This time he got to watch as you rolled your eyes. “You might’ve won, but you’re still bleeding.”
You then proceeded to rifle through the kit. As you did so, there was just something about the way you intentionally grabbed this and that which prompted him to ask, “Have you been reading up on first-aid or something?” It sure seemed to him like something you would do. As an aspiring writer and avid reader, it wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest
“Maybe,” you said evasively. That meant yes. “I’m going to take what you’ve got here off and clean it up.”
He let his head fall back again. “Roger that.”
He tried to contain himself as you removed the poor excuse for a bandage he’d applied earlier. Actually, “bandage” was probably a loose term. He’d started with a proper bandage applied by an on-site medic but in trying to change it himself at home with what he had on hand, he’d merely thrown the largest band-aids he could find in his medicine cabinet. His own training told him it was a laughably shoddy job at best but…oh well. His excuse was that he had been in a hurry to get himself out the door and on his way to you.
When you applied disinfectant to the wound, he lost the fight to stay completely quiet, hissing between his teeth and gripping the counter until his knuckles ached.
“Sorry.”
“’s okay. You do what you gotta do.”
After several painful moments, you said quietly, “Well, in my very non-professional opinion, it doesn’t quite look like it requires stitches. Mostly looks like you just reopened it fresh on the couch.”
That at least matched what he’d been told earlier by the medic.
“Good to know.”
He could see faintly in his periphery that you were looking at him curiously. “Care to explain why you’ve got a gash along your ribs?”
He hissed again as you applied more of that bitter and cold solution to the wound. “A practice incident.”
“Practice,” you repeated, eyes flitting between his face and the offending wound. Your brow inched slightly upwards. “Practicing how to navigate a knife fight?”
“Something like that.” Exactly like that, actually. “You should see what happened to the other guy.”
While Leon might have a long cut along his ribs, the other guy wound up thirty seconds later with a knife held to his throat. Game over for him.
The corner of your lips quirked upwards. “Okay, I’ll take your word that you won—whatever that means here.”
He smirked. “Good. I can’t have my lady thinking she’s attached herself to a loser.”
“You’re the furthest thing from a loser, Leon,” you said, completely serious.
So serious, in fact, that he wasn’t sure what to say to that. As a result, he kept quiet as you finished patching him up. You applied a sheet of gauze to the wound, affixing it to his chest with strips of tape. When you were done, he observed as you stared fixedly at his chest and the bruises on the other side.
“Don’t worry about the bruises.”
“Trying not to,” you said, raising your gaze to his. “Maybe we spend the rest of the night in bed. If you’re staying the night, that is.”
He smirked. “That’s one way to get me in your bed.”
You laughed, that bright sound he wished he could bottle up and carry with him at all times. “So is that a yes?”
“If you’ll have me.”
“Of course I will.” You eyed his shirt. “Guess it’s a good thing you’ve got some spare clothes over here now.”
Leon’s heart did one of its funny little flutterings it liked to do around you. In the last year (well, just shy of a year), he had started to accumulate belongings that lived permanently at your place. A toothbrush. Pajama pants. T-shirts. Personal care items.
Reminders of those things brought a smile to his lips every time. It sounded so nice to him to find he had something now—some place with someone—that was almost like home that wasn’t his lonely apartment.
Spurred by that thought, he grabbed your chin and drew you in close for a long, tender kiss.
“Thank you,” he said. For a lot of things, one of which being tending to his wound.
You smiled. “Of course.” Leaning in, you finished off the statement with a soft brush of your lips against his again.
Suddenly he felt the need to apologize. After all, he hadn’t intended to turn movie night into a round of playing clinic. “Sorry for ruining movie night.”
Your head cocked to one side, laying a gentle hand against his cheek. “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m just glad to know you’re okay. C’mon, let’s get you in changed and in bed. All this really means is we can watch the movie in bed instead of on the couch.”
You said it all with such frankness that he believed you. At the very least, you had successfully mollified his guilt.
With some help from you, he slipped on a fresh T-shirt and pajama pants. You then tucked him into bed before readying yourself for bed as well. When you emerged from the closet in a familiar part of matching satin pajamas, he couldn’t help but groan in despair. You always looked so good in those silky pajamas and here he was resigned to the realization that certain things were likely off the table tonight.
“You really know how to kick a man while he’s down.”
You smiled sweetly. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is what I normally wear to bed, Leon.” Then you added with a tilt of your head, “Somehow I don’t think it would matter even if I wore baggy pants and an oversized T-shirt.”
He felt the corner of his lip quirk. “You might be on to something.” He patted the bed next to him. “Come here.”
Maybe with a little creative thinking he could figure out a way to get you out of those pajamas.