The cut on his cheek wasn’t deep, but it had split the skin just enough to sting when he moved.

He sat on the bench, still—shoulders drawn back, jaw tight. Trying not to wince. Trying not to look at you.

You didn’t say anything as you opened the first aid kit. Just soaked the cotton, held it steady.

He flinched when it touched his skin.

Only slightly.

You didn’t apologize. You didn’t tease.

You just kept going.

Careful. Quiet.

His eyes flicked up once, then away. Like he was looking for something to brace against, but all he found was you—and your silence.

The cut was cleaned. The bleeding had stopped. Still, you didn’t move your hand away yet.

You looked at him then. Really looked.

Not angry.

Not disappointed.

Just… there.

Present in the way that made it harder for him to breathe.

He cleared his throat, voice rough from something that had nothing to do with fighting.

“You’re not gonna ask what happened?”