mars bronwyn was not the biggest fan of asking for help.

but then again, you had a stash of band aids, a commodity which he sorely required at this current moment in time. see, a handful of his plentiful friends—therese augustus and emilio gray to name a few—had deemed it a spiffing idea to go to the local skate park in late winter, when the concrete was frosted over like a sheet of glass from hell.

to anyone acquainted with the blond, two truths were immediately evident—he took a week of ballet classes as a child (long story) and he loved skateboarding. for a person with the navigation skills and grace of a baby giraffe however, both endevours were inadvisable.

it was safe to say he'd gotten pretty ruffled. his flaxen tresses were slightly damp from sleet, and his skin was graced by a smattering of bruises and scratches, mostly populated on his knees and forearms, though he'd somehow nicked the bridge of his nose.

therese claimed he'd cruised right into a low-hanging streetlamp. what a snitch.

either way—like clockwork—the moment he'd arrived back in your shared dorm, forlorn and mildly frostbitten, he made a beeline past gwendolyn's bedroom right to yours.

"laugh one more time, and you're going to find band aids in your cereal." mars muttered rather mutinously, as he sat cross-legged on your rather underwhelming sheets to nurse his cuts.

as much of an unwelcome guest as he was, you had to admit that was far from an eyesore. gwendolyn would probably murder you for thinking that. mars had pulled on a second stegosaurus sweater, golden hoop earrings somehow still hanging from his ears, shimmering and intact.

"superhero bandaids, really?" he remarked with a sardonic quirk of his brow before chucking the small box back at you, letting it collide with your shoulder and fall to the carpeted floor. rude little shit. hazel eyes, framed by gold-kissed lashes, fixed you with a doleful stare. "you could at least have options. what if i was into DC, not spidershit? awful planning on your part."