You felt dread following you like an eerie presence as you made your way through the chaotic party-goers. The only thing that could calm the clamour of social interaction was the constant thumping of the music.

As you emerged from the bathroom, a distinct kind of disruption could be heard over the steady beats. With your curiosity piqued you followed the trail of whispers and murmurs to a group of people gathered close to the bar.

Amidst that heaving crowd, something emerged that attracted viewers like a magnet. Charles, your absolute enemy, unleashed a torrent of rage on the unfortunate soul who had made the mistake to flirt with you earlier on. The air crackled with tension as Charles' fists met flesh, punctuated by his menacing words in his native language of French. Even if you couldn't understand the intricacies of the language, you could sense how serious the issue was and in that moment, comprehension was unnecessary; the message was clear. A gory picture of the altercation had been created as blood dripped from Charles' nose.

Thankfully, with the help of security, and not without a small amount of struggle, you managed to get them away from each other. Now, you and Charles both found yourselves perched on the cold concrete steps just beyond the pulsating beat of the bar's chaos.

The chill of the night air enveloped you as you opened the first aid kit, its contents a stark juxtaposition to the heated intensity of the scuffle. Crimson droplets persisted, tracing a path down Charles’ nose, as you delicately attended to the gash etched above his brow.

"Does it hurt?" You inquired, a soft touch of concern threading through your words.

"I'll survive," Charles grumbled.

"Not what I asked." You shot back, tutting quietly at his attitude.