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It was the dead of night when you found him in an alley, he was beaten, bloody and unconscious, for a moment you had thought he was dead, but you had picked up on the lazy pulse in his neck and a shallow breathing.

 Having a gaming night at Saitama’s had become something of a ritual for you and King and from time to time even Fubuki came by just to tease at how much you and the blonde nerded out when a new game had just been released. Those nights were precious to you, they kept you sane, something the world around you had been so determinately trying to take away from you what with all the monster attacks. You couldn’t sleep for more than three damn hours before a monster decided to pop up and ruin your night. It was annoying and it was slicing away at your usually calm demeanor.

 King knew you well and you knew him just as well, so when something was wrong with you he was the first one to notice. However, you being cranky all the time because of your lack of sleep was evident to everyone considered a friend, even Saitama was aware, even though he was usually the most clueless one out of your small group. The baldy had even offered you his futon to nap on while you were over at his place, but you had politely declined and continued bashing your fingers against your controller.

 It had been early in the morning when you and King had finally decided to call it a night and leave and you, being the good friend you were and seeing as King was a scardy cat, had decided to walk him home before returning to your little apartment to hit the whey. It hadn’t been long after waving the blonde goodbye and going your own way, doing your best to enjoy the coolness of the night, the smell of summer and the serene silence that had taken over the city, when something white stuck out to you from a dark alleyway you were just about to pass by.

 You weren’t a hero by any means, just a curious onlooker who had very few things to fear considering your abilities, which was something you kept private, with only King knowing. It was fair, you knew about his career being a scam so you had shared your own secret with him and so far he had kept it to himself, for which you were very grateful. You didn’t want to boast about it, heck you didn’t even want to use your abilities or have them at all. You wanted to be…normal, you enjoyed the mundane everyday life of a casual civilian.

 You entered the alleyway, ears on high alert in case of…something. A man was slumped over a pile of garbage bags and from what you could see he was critically injured and hardly breathing, so you sighed to yourself, looking over his sharp features which were dusted with pain and soaked in blood, his own you presumed.

 You didn’t need to be a hero to help someone in need, at least, that’s what you told yourself while you gently lifted him off the garbage bags and slumped him over your back. You couldn’t just leave him there, if he died and you had had the opportunity to do something about it, his death would technically be on your hands.

 You brought him home, which took a while, but you managed.

You left him lying on your living room carpet before rushing for a kitchen towel and rolling it up, nestling it under his head, gulping heavily when you saw the blood on your palm after repositioning the back of his head. Your first aid kit couldn’t take care of such an injury, his fucking skull was cracked open.

 You gripped onto your hoodie, twisting the fabric in the center of your chest, stuck on what to do now that the revelation of just how bad this guy's condition was hit you. You couldn’t call an ambulance, you didn’t know who he was and after a quick pat over his body you realized he had nothing on him, nothing to identify him and he was surely not a hero or he would be listed in the hero manual and you swore you had never seen his face in the book.

 “Maybe I can…heal him…” you thought, a feint glow starting to emit from the tips of your fingers “…just a little.”

 Your sprawled out hand reached for his chest, but you pulled back, as if stung by something that couldn’t be seen. You frowned, gripping your glowing hand, letting the glow fade, then exhaled shakily and closed your eyes for just a brief moment of self-indulgence.


 You couldn’t, you promise yourself you wouldn’t.

 You stood up hurriedly, rushing to the bathroom for your kit. If your bandages can’t save him then he wasn't meant to be saved by your hand and you would call an ambulance. You clutched the to your side, the familiar red cross bringing back too many memories to ignore, but you couldn’t focus on them, not now. You set the box next to him, sitting down on your knees and rolling the sleeves of your hoodie up before tying your hair back with the hairband that always stayed secured around your wrist.

 You struggled to undress him, not because of his weight, but the fear that your actions might cause further injury complications, but after a while his top and pants were off, leaving him exposed to you as you went to work. Stitching flesh, disinfecting, cleaning dried up blood, wrappings…so many wrappings, and after around an hour the man seemed stable enough, well, he looked like a mummy, but that was good, it meant no wound was left untended. You exhaled, exhausted, and rubbed away the sweat from your forehead while leaning back into your couch, smiling gently to yourself at a job well done.

 You replaced the towel under his head with one of the cushions on your couch, draped a light sheet over him and left him there, letting the floor cool off his fever and give his body solid support while he recovered. An aspirin would have done wonders, but he was unconscious and you weren't about to stuff a pill down his throat.

You left the first aid kit next to him and went to wash up, feeling yourself a bit too bloody to sleep in such a state. After you made sure every last smudge of blood was gone you turned on your stove and after filling a small silver kettle halfway with water, left it to boil.

 Your hands were shaking, despite successfully patching up the unknown man. You needed to calm down and the first source of relaxation that came to your mind was a nice hot cup of tea. You place the tea box next to the stove, the only type of tea you had, which reminded you that you really needed to go grocery shopping soon, and then proceeded back to the sink where you splashed your face with cool water, washing away your sweat before patting away the excess moisture with a paper towel. Hopefully this would keep you awake long enough for the man to regain consciousness.

 The feint groan that came behind you had you rushing past your counter and scrambling next to the man on the floor. You had almost tripped over the edge of your carpet and fell over him in your hurry, but thankfully you had regained your composure and avoided breaking what little bones he had still intact. Your heart picked up speed and your breaths became rigged with anticipation as you watched the man’s eyebrows scrunch together and his face twist as he came to. His eyes cracked open, barely, but enough for you to see the hazy yellow irises hiding beneath heavy eyelids and white lashes. They locked onto yours, but there was no readable emotion stored in them, he just stared blankly and understandably so, he was still out of it, he had even less of an idea what was going on than you did.

 You were stunned. How was he even conscious with such injuries? Maybe it was the fever that had forced him awake, he was probably severely dehydrated. 

 His eyes closed as abruptly as they had opened and his head tipped to one side, facial muscles relaxing as he was taken back into sleep’s embrace, leaving to once again watch over him while his body attempted recovery. With a shaky exhale and a hand to your heart, pressed firmly to calm its frantic beating, you stood up and headed for the whistling kettle.

 You turned off the stove and after retrieving the first mug that was within hands-reach, filled it with hot water and settled a tea bag inside before setting a small plate over the cup. You picked it up shortly before setting it on the small coffee table you had nudged aside to make room for your patient and huddled up on the couch, much too lazy to change into more comfortable clothes. You rested on arm under a cushion while your free hand held a lose grip onto the man’s wrist, keeping you in check with his pulse.

 You really wished he’d survive. He already regained consciousness once so the chances were bigger than they were when you had started treating him.

 Your eyelids were so heavy…

 The moment you nestled on the couch you realized just how sleepy you actually were, but the fear kept you awake, the fear of him not surviving.

 Maybe you should have called an ambulance.

 When you opened your eyes again, the sun was high in the sky, birds were chirping, the streets were bustling and…he was gone?

 You jumped, winding up in a tangled mess on the floor where the man had been lying.

 “What the hell?!” you cursed loudly, much too cranky and disoriented for your own good. You looked over yourself, stilling, the sheet you had draped over him to keep him from getting too cold was now neatly tucked around you.

 Your eyes wandered to the lonely mug sitting on your coffee table – the plate was off with the tea bag on it. The mug was empty.

 That bitch had drank your tea and left…