Fuuuuck.

Okay.

So maybe she’d taken this all a bit too far.

Anni knew well that a prideful fuck, especially one liquored up to the eyeballs, was not the wisest target for her to mouth off to. Had she been thinking a little straighter, perhaps she wouldn't have said a word.

But shitty ass tequila had been flowing through her veins, liquid courage drowning out her better sense as Anni had called out the bastard on his amature castration of Sex Pistols’ Anarchy in the UK. The deteething of such an iconic banger just demanded her scatching criticism, to which the fucker had decided deserved a KNIFE TO THE THIGH in fucking response!

At least she’d gotten to pulverize his nose in return before the two of them had been tossed to the streets, without so much as a napkin to stem the bleeding! Shitty ass dive bar, she hoped it burned to god damned ashes.

So here she stood, having limped her way back home, wincing as she stood in her doorway, trying to jam her keys into the teeny ass, janky lock, when all of a sudden the door swung open, revealing the frantic, panicked form of Fresh Cut Grass.

“Heeeey, Shortstac-”

“Please tell me that’s not your blood stainin’ your jeans, Anni.”

“It’s, uhhh… Just a scratch?”

Anni shrugged, failing miserably to appear casual under her roommate’s withering gaze. His earlier panic was slowly quelling, suppressed by an ever growing sense of frustration tinged exasperation. Yeeesh, she felt a lecture coming on.

Greeeeat.

“Monty Python you ain’t,” Fresh Cut Grass replied dryly, their eyes narrowing as he wheeled himself back and outta the way, giving Anni ample space to hobble on inside around their wheelchair. “Bathroom floor. Now."

He didn't so much as blink in the face of Anni flipping them off, staring down her bleeding, swaying ass, watching as she crumpled beneath the weight of his gaze. Perhaps once upon a time, back in high school, he would have dropped it, wincing and quietly running off to tattle to Ashton and Milo to fix this, not wanting to rock the boat or upset the usually prickly woman.

That was then though.

This was now.

And Fresh Cut Grass wasn't beyond just scooping her up into their lap, hissing and biting like the feral cat she often portrayed, and wheeling her drunk ass there himself!

A fact that Anni knew all too well at this point.

Thus she sighed, harsh and heavy, before dragging her ass as directed, before flopping to the bathroom floor with a heavy thunk, though not before she’d wincingly shimmied out of her now blood soaked jeans.

Ugh, that’d be a bitch to deal with in the morning…

“Between you ‘n Ash, I feel like I oughta be an expert in flesh stitchin’ by now, ya know?” Fresh Cut Grass hummed as they came into view, setting down the trusty old tool box they’d converted into one of many home first aid kits. In this household, just one didn't really, well, suffice.

Carefully he dropped himself to the floor, scooting over on their ass, coming to a stop in front of the ever familiar face of a grouchy, boozed up Anni.

“Ain’t that bad….” She muttered, looking anywhere but him.

“I may have glasses thicker than your common sense, but I ain’t blind, Anni. I know a stab wound when I see one! Please tell me the blade was at least clean? No rust? Or any other bodily fluids you could see?”

“... No rust. Bitch was clean when I yanked it outta my thigh. Fuck if I know how clean it was going in though.”

“At least we shouldn't have to worry about tetanus… You’re still getting a shot after this though.”

“Fuck you!”

“I love ya too, Grumpy Pants~”

Oh how she huffed and grunted, a disgruntled mess as Fresh Cut Grass worked diligently over her wound, cleaning and disinfecting the nasty gash, fingers gliding over and upon it with tender, steady care.

“It’s not too bad. The cut was pretty clean and didn't sink real deep. I think we can stay outta the ER with this one.”

“Thank fuck.”

“Still gonna have to stitch you up though. Sorry…”

“Figured that’d happen.” Anni shrugged, leaning back against the cool tiled wall. “Not the first time, and probably won't be the last. Least you don't throw up afterwards like Milo does.”

“They ain’t the best with open wounds…”

“Understatement of the shittin’ century!” She laughed, the sound weak and boarding on wheezy. “Anyway. Stitch me up so my ass can pass out. Today’s been a bitch and I want it over with before Ashton gets home and bitches at me about pickin’ fights about my weight class again. The hypocritical fuck…”

“Honestly, the two of ya are like two battered peas in a pod!”

Oh how she rolled her eyes, so disdainfully dramatic that Fresh Cut Grass couldn't help but laugh.

“Okay, okay! I’m gettin’ to it. Got something to bite on ta? The neighbors weren't all too kind the last time they heard ya hollerin’...”

One more flick of her middle finger, and Anni was tugging off her jacket, shoving the thick, well worn leather into her mouth. There was a grimace in turn from Fresh Cut Grass, yet they didn't say a word, instead choosing to focus on the task at hand.

As always, it was the first stab that stung like a bitch.

Fuck, the whole thing was straight up miserable, only made better by the gentle, sweet mummerings of their companion, his words a steady stream of assurances and praises, letting her know just how well she was doing.

Out loud she’d never admit it, but by gods did it help.

“There! All patched up!”

Anni blinked blearily, looking down to see her thigh not only stitched up, but appropriately redisinfedted and wrapped. She couldn't help but let out a breath, exhausted and tinged with deep relief, as she let herself fall forward, caught assuredly by Fresh Cut Grass’ waiting arms.

“... Thanks, Grass,” she whispered, words muffled by the sunshiny yellows of his favorite sweater.

“Don't mention it, ‘Ni! I’m just glad you're okay…”

A comfortable silence fell between them, as familiar as the exhausted embrace they shared under the flickering lights of the Krook House bathroom.

“... You’re still gonna need that tetanus shot though.”