you pulled wes into the empty hallway, still echoing with voices from the commotion.

he was tense, arms crossed, jaw clenched like he was waiting to be yelled at — which, to be fair, he was.

“are you serious right now?” you snapped, stepping in front of him. “what was that?”

he didn’t say anything. just looked away like the peeling paint on the wall was suddenly fascinating.

“you can’t just go around throwing punches every time someone breathes wrong in my direction!”

“he didn’t breathe wrong,” wes muttered under his breath, sulking. “he insulted you.”

you narrowed your eyes. “and now you’re suspended.”

he shrugged, like that didn’t matter. but the pout on his lips said otherwise.

“i told you i can handle it. i wasn’t even upset.”

“i was,” he shot back. then added quieter, “i still am.”

you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, trying not to let his stupid face soften you.

“you’re reckless,” you said. “you’re impulsive. you didn’t even think.”

“i did think,” he mumbled. “i thought ‘that guy needs to shut up’ and then i made it happen.”

you glared.

he uncrossed his arms slowly and leaned against the lockers, eyes flicking up to meet yours — all pouty and moody and just a little too proud of himself.

you crossed your arms.

“can you at least say sorry?”

his eyes dropped. lips pressed into a line. and after a long beat, he muttered,

“but i’m not sorry.”

he peeked up at you again, lower lip sticking out just slightly, like he knew he messed up but still didn’t regret it one bit.