prompt #3: "what happened to your hands?"
It was the middle of the night, nearly two, when you heard a loud banging on the door from downstairs. Your parents were out of town for the weekend, so you were home alone.
Groaning, you swung your legs over your bed and slid your feet into a pair of slippers, grabbing your glasses from your nightstand in the process. Scurrying down the stairs, you spotted a dark figure behind the glass front door and you annoyingly opened the door. "What do you—" you paused at the sight of the human in front of you, "Steve?"
Blood dripped from his lips, nose, but mainly his knuckles onto the welcome mat below him. His hair was messy, more than usual. One of his eyes was swollen shut and you gulped at the sight of him. "I didn't know where else to come."
"Come in, come in," you led him into the house, closing the door behind him. "Um, stay here. I'll grab a towel or something."
Rushing to the kitchen, you grabbed a rag and ran it under some hot water. Disobeying your orders, Steve followed you into the small kitchen where he sat at the counter. Sighing, you placed the rag to his knuckles, taking his hand in his. The white cloth was quickly dyed red and you shook your head.
"What happened to your hands?"
"What do you think," he chuckled, wincing in pain quickly after. Sighing once again, you left the cloth on his hand and turned to the fridge. Climbing on top of the counter, seeing as you were too short to reach, you opened the cupboard above the fridge and grabbed the medical kit.
"I could have gotten that," Steve remarked from behind you. "I wouldn't even have to use the counter."
"Shut up," you leaned forward, grabbing the bandage wrap and thread.
"I don't think you understand how short that shirt is."
Gasping, you immediately crouched down, trying to your expose bottom half, causing Steve to burst into a fit of laughter. Your cheeks flushed as you hopped down from the counter, placing the wrap and thread on the counter, crossing your arms. You leaned back across the kitchen from him as he grinned. "My wounds aren't gonna heal themselves."
Rolling your eyes, you made your way to Steve, grabbing his left hand along with the bandage. After wrapping both hands, you took the thread and a tiny pair of scissors from the drawer below you. "What are you doing? Don't tell me you're putting that in me."
"I'm going to med school in less than two months, Steve. I think I know how to stitch somebody up," you laughed, pressing your thumb over the deep cut below his eye lightly. He winced and you sighed.
After a couple minutes of Steve whining, and you swerving the thread through his skin, you cut off the end and placed the scissors down on the counter, smiling to yourself. "All done. Good as new."
"That hurts like Hell."
"Well I hope you didn't expect it to feel good."
As you turned back around to place the leftover bandage and thread back in the cupboard, Steve grabbed your waist, spinning you around. Quickly, he pushed his lips against yours. "Thank you," he said into the kiss.