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Your fingers gently ran over the irritated skin surrounding the arrow wound that shot right through Oliver's shoulder. It had been sewn shut, but by the way that he flinched at your touch told you that it still bothered him.
"I'm surprised you aren't dead yet." You said, gingerly moving the fabric of his hoody away as to get a better look. "It's not like this is the first time you've been bested by one of those league arseholes."
"She caught me by surprise."
Biting you lip, you stopped yourself from throwing him a particularly nasty insult. Instead, you merely dabbed away the last of the wet blood from his shoulder before dumping the soaked tissues. You avoided his gaze as you tidied up the medical supplies you had laid out before he had stumbled to your aid, including the fresh needle and thread you had out.
"I'm sorry."
You perked up at the words and turned towards him again, your breath getting could in your throat when you saw the genuinely apologetic look he was giving you. "What was that?"
Oliver rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry I was reckless," he said, "and I'm sorry that I risk my life every night and I'm sorry that you have to patch me up."
"Are you being sarcastic?"
"Don't be difficult, (Y/N)."
He suddenly jumped of off the bench. That was when you found yourself cornered between the shelves and Oliver's body. The hoody he was wearing was hanging off of his shoulder, revealing most of his bare chest and toned muscles. Your eyes dragged over his body in one swoop before coming up to his face. He was looking down at you with an almost predatory gaze, but his eyes weren't looking into yours. They were far to focused on your lips.
"Are you going to kiss me, Mr. Queen?" You asked him, the corners of your mouth quirking upwards.
