Dangerous Encounters [Dangerous Fellows x Reader]

ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ【１４】

Nevermind. Sleep was for the weak anyway. Why would you sleep when you could just... not sleep? Right? Well... here you were, sat on the washroom floor, various medical kits spread around you like a children's jigsaw puzzle. Your hands were behind your back, blotting a "clean" cloth around the long back scratches you had received the day previous (when Lawrence fucked you over on the roof). Still, all this proved difficult in the dingy bathroom your upwards-facing flashlight feebly attempted to illuminate, seeing as it was nearly impossible to distinguish exactly what was going on across your back.

Your shirt was tossed off to the side and pants rolled up far enough to where you could access the cuts on your calf. Over to your left, old piles of bandages were balled up in a corner with other rubbish, waiting to be thrown away. As soon as you had removed the gauze covering your wounds, any form of scabbing was ripped off as well—reopening them for the world to see.

Soft hissing pushed through clenched teeth at the fabric rubbing around your wounds. You tensed, knowing the sooner you got this done, the faster this stinging pain would be over. You looked over your shoulder at the mirror, scanning up and down your crimson back to find that most of the blood had stopped and the skin around was as clean as you could get it. Now was time for phase two.

Tweezers...

You needed to pick out the bits of dirt and debris stuck inside the cuts. Letting out a sigh, you went to pluck the crumbs of dirt and fabric fuzz caught in your leg. Taking a deep breath, you got to work, cursing every color of the rainbow and seething at the stupid zombie that did this to you. Soon enough, your calf was done and bandaged up, leaving you to move onto your bare back by yourself.

Angles, baby! Your arms twisted behind you as you craned your neck over your shoulder to try and watch where the pointy metal tweezers poked and prodded. You were fine at the center of your back, but moving up proved difficult as you accidentally jabbed your open wound.

"Mother fucker!" You swore out loud, squinting your eyes in pain as your whole body tensed. "Son of a bitch."

A soft knock on the washroom door distracted you from the sharp stinging in your back.

"Yeah? Come in." You responded, watching as the wooden door creaked open. To your surprise, silent Ethan slipped into the room with you, eyes scanning over your twisted form, hunched over in pain. "How's it going? Did I wake you up?"

He shook his head no, a silent answer to your open question. He analyzed the rips in your back, turquoise eyes scanning down to see the tweezers in your limp hand.

"Let me help." He offered, reaching for the tiny tongs in your hand. You clutched the utensil and brought it close to your body out of instinct. Turquoise met the distrust swirling in (e/c). Ethan backed up, retracting his hand slowly from your space. "I know my way around an injury, used to play baseball."

You looked up at him, a glimmer of mischief in your eye. "Who the hell tore you up like this in baseball?" A coy grin tugged at the corner of your lips as you watched Ethan kneel next to you.

His eyes trailed down your sun-kissed skin. It was nearly impossible to avoid getting a tan during the apocalypse because of the constant scavenging for whatever materials and resources you could lay your hands on. Seeing you this up close and personal, he could see the dark circles under your dull eyes, chapped and anxiety-bitten lips, and moles that sat plainly on your face. A few healed knicks and scrapes also littered the vast expanse of your skin, no rhyme, or reason despite the obvious struggle you've faced.

Your hand connecting with his own drew Ethan out of the trance he was in. He felt the tweezers you left behind in his palm, and the ghost of your callused hand left his. His eyes returned to your face as you read his visible confusion.