Close the Door

Blood was everywhere. Hand towels that should have been white and fluffy were saturated with the crimson bodily fluid as Damian seethed from the edge of his bed. When you agreed to meet him at his house to work on your senior project, you hadn't expected to find the rich boy from your history class to be sporting a gunshot wound.

"Close the damn door.." His voice was gravely and much deeper than you expected from him. The words held a command and you actually heeded them before you realized you'd closed his bedroom door and even locked it.

"Damian? What..?..." You dropped your backpack by the now closed door and stepped closer, worry over your features as he hissed in pain. A needle and medical thread was in his hands, they were shaking as he tried to stitch himself up. His breath was ragged and he was trying too hard to see straight, he'd lost a lot of blood.

"Here, let me." He only narrowed his deep blue gaze as you knelt on the ground by his bed. Steeling yourself with a deep breath you took the needle and thread from his shaking fingers. Trying very hard not to throw up at the feel of warm flesh under your fingers you stitched up what was clearly a bullet wound.

When you were finished, Damian reached to his side and used his teeth to pop the cap off of a bottle of peroxide, pouring the liquid onto a half dry towel he places it on the wound and hisses low, nearly growling. You sit back on your knees, hands covered in blood clear up to your wrist as you watch his chest rise and fall with his quickly breathing. Most would have passed out by now, but he kept them even and measured even though he looked as if he wanted to faint anyways. Heck, you wanted to faint.

Wrapping his side in gauze, Damian tied it off and took a deep breath. He looked down at your now trembling form, causing him to roll his eyes. "Come on." Gently taking your hands he yanked you up and into his en-suite bathroom. Warm water running over your hands spooked you out of your trance and you gasped, jumping slightly when his hands moved over your own. The red turning the water pink as you washed your hands together. One of the small towels,free of blood and still neatly folded, was left alone and they were fluffy like you'd thought as you dried your fingers on it.

Damian gently pushes you from the bathroom and onto the lounge chair set in front of his large window. Once you're seated, he goes around cleaning up the mess around you. His movements slow and he grunts in pain every few moments as he pulls at the haphazard stitches on his side. His one arm curled protectively against his waist as he kicked the soiled towels into a trash bin with his feet then ties the plastic strings up, stuffing the bad under his bed and hiding all evidence he'd just nearly bled out in his own bedroom.

Still a bit shocked, you flinch when he sits on the window seat across from you, deep bue eyes stare out into the window. The gardens below full of greenery with spring well on its way to the dreary city of Gotham. You clear your throat after a few minutes,just to clear the awkward tension between you both. You and Damian weren't the closest of friends in all honesty. But you got along well enough to do projects together for school. His amazing grades helped bring yours up into the top percent of the class. Damian always told you that you were incredibly intelligent, you didn't really believe him. So siting here now, knowing how warm his skin feels under your hands as you literally stitch him back together, you feel like a boundary has been crossed. The relationship between you becoming something much more concrete than what is was an hour ago.

So you move to pick up our backpack. Deciding to leave it alone, you pulled your history book and notebook from your bag.

"So... what are we doing for our project?"