it was no secret that vance had family problems. his father was a monster, and his mother a silent watcher. too into her imagination of 'love' and 'rightful discipline' to see past his father's beatings to help. leaving him to fend for himself. most of the time, he hides in his room to tend to the bloodied or bruised wounds he now adorns. but, tonight he craves someone else's hands.

him and you have been dating for a few good months now. you know more than he has ever told another, and his trust in you lies deep. so deep, in fact, that when you hear stones being thrown at your window late one night, the name vance appears in your mind before you even understand the situation.

he crawls himself in once you've hauled your window open. he attempts a grin, but it falters when you begin to fuss over him and lead him down the hall to your bathroom to get the medical supplies. he wishes to soothe you, but he cant quite muster the words even when silence has laid between you for minutes on end. each time he tries, his lip begins to wobble and he has to look away.

he's glad you either don't notice, or don't say anything. it's probably midnight by the time you lead him back down the hallway to your room. and soon, he's sat up on your headboard while you get comfortable again. this time, against his side. he isn't ready to sleep, but cuddling is never off the board.

you don't even need to try to urge him to speak. after a few moments, he does.

"i hate him," his whisper slices through the still air around. "one day i'll be bigger, though. an' - and i'll fuckin' win." his voice wavers, and thats when you tuck him down under the covers, allowing him to curl into you as he murmurs about it. letting you coo and soothe him.

he swallows hard, "i love you, though." his grip tightens, as if you'd just disappear into thin air. "thank you fer stitchin' me up, sweetheart."