The Delinquent Next Door

What Are You, A Doctor?

"Ow! What the hell?" Hanma hissed as he slightly jerks his head away from your gentle grasp, glaring daggers at you after your failed attempt to apply the alcohol-soaked cotton ball to one of the many cuts that littered his bruised face. "I barely even touched you! Stop being such a baby and quit moving," you huff, once again taking his head in your hand. Leaning towards him with tonsils in your other hand, ready to continue disinfecting the cut on his cheek.

"I didn't ask you to patch me up." He frowns, pushing your hands away from his face as he quickly stands up from the couch that you had instructed to seat himself in after inviting (shoving) him inside your apartment to clean up the aftermath of the brawl he had just been in hours ago.

"Listen doll, it's been fun and all, but I hate stayin' in debt. Now that we're even, I have no business with you anymore," he curtley states as he makes his way to the entrance of your apartment.

You toss aside the surgical instrument you held on to the steel tray you had set beside you on the coffee table, which you had seated yourself on, while stalking over to Hanma.

You grab Hanma by the back of the collar of his shirt, turning him around. Gripping the front of his shirt, you force him down to meet you at your eye-level. "Shut up and let me help you!" you snap. "You almost died tonight because of me! After all that, you think I'm just gonna leave you like nothing happened? Like hell!" Hanma's eyes widen at your unexpectedly bold actions.

"I-" you don't give him a chance to protest, quick to cut him off, "You are not in any 'debt' to me. As far as I am concerned, it's the other way around. You saved my life," you voice, your breath hitches, your words getting caught in your throat as you feel the unsettling guilt fester and churn in your stomach.

If he hadn't stepped in, he wouldn't have gotten hurt...

You shorten the distance between yours and Hanma's face, giving him a better view of the anger that burned in your e/c orbs. "Now listen here. You are going to sit back down and stay so I can finish patching you up, then you can leave afterwards. Got it?" You shake him a bit, eyes staring him down, searching the dumbfounded male for a response.

Without another word, he nods.

Slowly, you loosen your grip off of Hanma's dirtied, white shirt before guiding him back into the living room. He situates himself back on the couch, grimacing as his breathing hitches, meanwhile you sit across from him on the coffee table.

Gently taking back up the tonsils containing the soaked cotton ball, you gently grip Hanm's chin, slightly turning his head. Gently, you glide the damp piece of cotton around the cut, careful not to cause too much pain before you start to dab on the wound itself. Once finished, you replace the tonsils with a cotton swab coated in ointment. You gently smear the product on the cut before sealing your work with a hello kitty bandaid.

You do the same for the rest of his minor wounds. While you worked you snuck glances at Hanma, watching the twinges of pain splayed on his lips and catching the small winces he produced as you disinfected and bandaged the rest of the cuts that littered his body.

"Alright, now are we done here?" he groans, a look of disgust present on his features as he scans over the cutsie bandaids peppered across his hands, arms and face. "Nope." You chirp, getting up and going to the kitchen to fetch two plastic bags. Coming back, you toss the piles of blood-stained cotton balls, used cotton swabs and bandage wrappings in the bag, while placing the tonsils and dirty silver tray in the other bag.

"Don't move, I'll be right back," you say. "Yes ma'am," Hanma mutters mockingly.

Rolling your eyes, you head into the kitchen, throwing away the bag of bloody trash while making a beeline towards the bathroom to go fetch some more supplies, noting that you would clean the equipment later.