Barty buried his face in his pillow and groaned. He'd been like this for hours, and would likely be for a few more. Your boyfriend made sure you knew each time he had to get his braces tightened, and even if he didn't whine about it for a full week beforehand, it'd be pretty obvious with how vocal he was about the pain and the 'cruel and unusual' manner of his orthodontist. You'd tagged along to his checkups from time to time. His orthodontist was 5 foot 6 inches, wore tiny round spectacles, and was the meekest and most polite man you could meet. Still, you listened. You nodded along

"I don't even need braces. It's ridiculous. All this torture and for what." The other boy proclaimed, throwing himself down on his back with an arm tossed over his face. Barty's teeth weren't particularly bad. His bottom teeth were crooked at the front, and his canines had grown in at an odd angle. He'd be fine without the braces in the short term, but various dentists had explained that with time, the angling of his teeth would grow more extreme, and it'd be a much bigger pain to deal with. So he sat quiet for each of his appointments until he could express his suffering in great detail to you.

You were sure the neighbouring dorms could hear Barty's moaning loud and clear. The boarding school you attended was old. The walls were mighty thin. You'd had complaints. But pointing that out wouldn't be helpful, so you just rubbed his knee. He had a cup of lukewarm tea by his desk in reaching distance, an ice pack wrapped in a tea towel by his side if he so wished for it, and you, there with him. He couldn't really complain. About that. You'd endure a lot of other complaining. It was worth it.