“Hold on, hold on, hold on. I’ll just stitch you up. That’s gotta work, right?” she was talking to herself, clearly starting to panic as the blood continued to flow. Healing had never been her strong suit and it wasn’t about to be now. Part of Meg wished that someone else would sweep over and help her out because she had no clue just what to do.

     “What’s the plan?” she questioned, biting the inside of her cheek. Meg’s eyes locked onto Khari’s face, trying to search for an answer as if it’d be written on his skin, “What the hell are we even doing?”

     Meg’s eyebrows furrowed together, confusion obvious on her freckle-covered face. Blue eyes stared down Khari before she asked, “I... I don’t know why? Like, we weren’t talking about anything upsetting? Please tell me you’re gunna cry from laughing so hard.”

     “I wonder why I don’t believe that at all,” she deadpanned, still hanging from her shoulder as she stared down at Khari. After a moment, Meg added, “I’d appreciate if you would actually get me off of this damn thing instead of trying to make me swoon right now. No offense but ‘meat hook in the shoulder’ doesn’t really scream romance to me,”

     She hadn’t seen any wounds on Khari but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to cover it up. The athlete turned the stove off without a second thought, moving towards him, “I swear if you fucking got injured and didn’t tell me, I’ll kill you. I didn’t take first aid for you dumbasses to hide your injuries.”

     Almost instantly, Meg rolled her eyes before flashing Khari a smile, “Y’know, if you keep acting so happy every time you get mori’d, you’re gunna give people the wrong idea. I don’t think you wanna be known as ‘the guy who finds getting mori’d a little hot’.”