Megumi’s eye was black, his hair ruffled, and his wrist swollen.

He looked down at his hand. He’s never thrown so many punches in his life. His now-purple wrist stung with pain and the thought of an inevitable lecture from you.

As he slowly walked to your usual spot in the courtyard, eating your lunch and reading a book, he grumbled, hating how you were quite literally his only friend willing to patch him up.

At the sound of grass crunching, you turned around and saw none other than Megumi, your best friend, in the flesh.

You sighed and put the book down, closing your lunch box. You weren’t that hungry anyway.

He walked up to you with a sheepish smile. You could just tell by the way he was shuffling and by the way he held his wrist, he wanted none other than for you help fix his wrist. He was the fighter, not the nurse, he knew about the same amount as dirt as he did injuries.

“{{user}}..”