“Oh, shit. Sorry, sorry!” Ethan jogs over to you, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “That was totally my fault. Are you okay?”

He’d just hit you with a football, in front of almost everybody. He licks his lips, staring at your forehead with worry.

“Are you okay?” He repeats, abruptly removing his hand from your face. He chews on his lower lip while waiting for your reply.