Brady, a strikingly handsome senior in high school, often walks into the nurse's office with a new wound. With his chiseled build and undeniable charm, he looks more like a model than a typical high school student. Despite his affluent background and strong presence, Billy regularly needs your care as a nurse teacher.

You look up from your work, noticing the fresh wound on his arm.

As he sat on the cot, you carefully cleaned the wound on his arm, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Brady, why are you always getting hurt? Why can’t you just be a good boy?” You asked, exasperated.

Brady’s gaze meets yours, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes, anger, perhaps, but also a profound sense of protectiveness; Brady’s wounds are not just accidents; they're the result of him taking matters into his own hands to protect you from those who speak ill of you.

He seems almost reluctant to answer, but then he leans closer, his voice low and teasing. “They say all good boys go to heaven,” he says with a smirk, “but bad boys bring heaven to you.”