..ouch. the sting of freshly bruised and scraped knuckles never went away for laurier, an ache he’s come to know far too intimately. he definitely sprained something again—there was no way he would’ve walked out of that fight with just a few scratches.

with a heavy sigh, he slumped against the damp brick wall of the alley, shaking out his battered hands like it would somehow lessen the pain. his fingers fumbled with the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his pocket, retrieving one with practiced ease. the lighter flickered in the dim light, the tiny flame casting fleeting shadows on his bruised skin. nothing like the taste of smoke and the promise of lung damage to soothe his broken soul, of course.

he hated how familiar this all felt. the fights, the blood, the slow, aching realization that this was all he had left. sometimes, he thought about the kid he used to be, the one who sat in the front row with bright eyes and unscarred hands. that boy would have flinched if he saw him now. that boy would have been terrified. honestly, everyone was.

everyone but you.

he heard your footsteps before he saw you, the hurried shuffle of concern, the way your breath hitched at the sight of him slouched against the alley wall. of course you’d find him. you always did.

“laurier—”

“don’t.” his voice was rough, edged with something unreadable as he turned his head away. you didn’t need to see this. not again. not when he was like this. he pushed himself up, trying to steady his stance, trying to look less broken than he felt. “you shouldn’t be here.”

but you were already stepping closer, eyes scanning his injuries, soft hands reaching out despite everything. and laurier—stupid, selfish laurier—almost let you. almost leaned into you like he used to, before the world decided you weren’t allowed to be his anymore.

he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to pull back. “your parents were right,” he muttered, voice hollow. “you should stay away.”

but he didn’t say it like he meant it.