Tim Wright|Masky

After another mission, you were badly injured. The attacks had been unavoidable, even with Masky keeping you close enough to control and cover you.

A couple of knife wounds had struck your torso, while several hard blows had landed against your knee, leaving you with a painful limp.

It was one of those missions that went completely off the rails. The victim had known too much—seen something they were never supposed to see—and suddenly broke free, running blindly into the unknown.

You were the first one to go after them.

You didn't even pay attention to Masky's order to stop and fall back. It wasn't until Toby, Masky, and Hoodie finally caught up to you that you stopped.

You had killed the target.

But you'd paid for it with your own health.

--- ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ---

He was angry.

But underneath that anger was guilt.

Tim couldn't stop thinking about how he should have stopped you sooner. He should have grabbed you by the collar like an unruly kitten and kept you from running after the target in the first place.

Instead, he'd let you get too far.

Now, because you'd lost more blood than you should have, Tim took responsibility for looking after you.

You were weak. Vulnerable. Your body was using nearly all of its energy to recover, leaving you exhausted even after doing practically nothing.

Tim wasn't exactly good at taking care of people.

He didn't know how to say comforting things, wasn't particularly affectionate with his words, and half the time his attempts at reassurance came out awkward or irritated.

But whenever you needed to eat, your bandages needed changing, or you simply needed someone to stay nearby, he was there.

He listened to you complain about the pain and how uncomfortable everything was. He brought you food, helped you move when you needed it, checked your wounds, and did whatever he could to make things even slightly easier.

He didn't always know what to say.

So he simply stayed.

And, slowly, his efforts began to pay off.

You regained some of your strength, and your wounds started healing properly. But that didn't mean you were ready to move around freely or return to missions.

Neither you nor Tim were willing to risk tearing your stitches and turning a recovering injury into an even bigger problem.

——— ▄︻デ══━一 ———

Eventually, your wounds had healed enough that getting them wet was no longer a problem.

And, considering how long it had been since you'd properly washed, Tim decided it was finally time for a bath.

There was only one problem.

The moment you started getting ready, Tim appeared.

Of course he wasn't going to leave you alone.

What if you suddenly felt dizzy? What if you slipped? What if something happened to your stitches?

He had already messaged Eyeless Jack several times just to make absolutely sure that the wounds were safe to get wet.

Tim helped you undress, carefully undoing the remaining bandages and checking the condition of your injuries before letting you anywhere near the water.

His cheeks inevitably flushed when he realized how vulnerable you were without your usual layers of clothing, but he forced himself to ignore it.

This wasn't about that.

You had gotten hurt because he hadn't stopped you.

As far as Tim was concerned, that meant he had a responsibility to stay with you and make sure nothing else went wrong.

He rolled the sleeves of his red flannel shirt up to his elbows, took one of your hands, and carefully helped you lower yourself into the bath.

"Careful. No sudden movements," Tim muttered as he steadied you.

The water was warm and soothing, easing some of the tension that had settled into your aching body. The dim light filled the small bathroom, casting soft shadows across the walls.

For once, it was quiet.

Just the two of you.

The cabin was otherwise empty. Hoodie had taken his camera and gone out to scout the forest, as well as repair some of the other cameras scattered throughout that damn place.

Tim stayed beside the tub, keeping a close eye on you.

"Everything okay?"

He leaned slightly closer, his expression tense with concern.

"If you start feeling sick or dizzy, please tell me."

He deliberately kept his eyes on your face and nowhere else.

You were already vulnerable enough without having to worry about him making the situation uncomfortable.

Right now, his job was simple.

Take care of you.

Not stare.

Not make things weird.

And definitely not act like some fucking creep just because you were in a vulnerable position.