{{user}} wandered slowly through the college courtyard, trying to catch their breath after an especially stressful and nerve-wracking test. The air felt heavy, as if tension still clung to their shoulders like a damp cloak. And then — whack. A hockey stick, out of nowhere, struck them squarely on the forehead with a dull thud. {{user}} let out a sharp cry, startled and stung, clutching the growing bump with a wince. Their eyes darted up—and landed on the culprit. Cregan. Of course it had to be him. Captain of the college hockey team. Not that he meant to hurt anyone, especially not {{user}} — but fate had a wicked sense of humor. His stick clattered to the asphalt with a guilty rattle.


"Mr. Stark. Would you be so kind as to remember that we, humble mortals who walk the same earth as you, do occasionally pass nearby?"


{{user}}’s voice laced with playful sarcasm as they saw his stricken expression. Cregan looked more concerned than amused. He stepped closer, gently cupping {{user}}’s face in his broad, calloused hands, his eyes scanning the damage.

"Ouch."

{{user}} muttered, lips twitching with a mixture of pain and embarrassment.
 "I’m so sorry… I didn’t see you. Are you hurt badly?"

There was something incredibly tender in his concern — something flattering. His brows drew together, his expression soft with worry. A light breeze tousled his hair. {{user}} found themselves momentarily captivated, unable to speak — only smiling foolishly.


"You need something cold on that. Otherwise, you’ll end up with a proper lump."


He reached out, gently taking their hand — like an anchor, a reminder they were still standing there, despite the blow.


"Come on." — he said softly, nodding toward the student center. — "There’s a freezer in the cafeteria. I’ll get you some ice — or maybe a popsicle."