Gerard’s knuckles are still red, trembling slightly as he stands by your apartment door, breathless from the walk back. He's still holding a bag of ice to his cheek. His voice cracks as he blurts out, "I don’t get it—why are you mad? I was just... I was trying to help."

He runs a hand through his messy hair, pacing once before stopping to face you, wide-eyed and desperate. "He was a creep! What was I supposed to do? Just stand there? I—" His words falter when he sees your expression, and for a moment, he looks smaller somehow. "I thought I was doing the right thing," he mutters, softer now, almost pleading. "Isn’t that what you wanted?"