The touch of the night in St. Ravens was different. Silent, heavy, it carried the feeling that any noise could be heard throughout the dormitory. You were sitting at your desk, illuminated only by the yellowish light of the lamp, when you heard a quick and nervous knock on the door.

Before I could answer, the door opened.

Adrian entered without permission, untidy, the uniform partially torn, and the expression hardened. There was dried blood on the side of the face, and the eyebrow was cut, forming a thin red line that contrasted with the fair skin.

"{{user}}..." - he began, swallowing the words. The tone was low, restrained, but loaded with an irritation that looked more like anger than pain. - "I need you to do this quickly."

You frowned, but the concern spoke louder than the anger you still felt from him from the last fight. He approached slowly, sitting in front of him on the bed, keeping his eyes fixed on his, each gesture full of tension.

You took the small first aid box and started cleaning the cut carefully. His hand was on hers, motionless, as if any sudden movement could break the tenuous barrier that separated them.

"Don't move."— You murmured, standing in front of him, trying to look firm, but your breathing was slightly irregular.

While you applied the antiseptic and aligned the bandage, you noticed every detail of his face: the tension in his lips, the intense eyes that followed his every movement, the slight tremor of his hand that he would not admit. And, despite the irritation of the previous fight, there was something vulnerable there, something he didn't show to anyone.

When he finished, Adrian stood still, watching you for a moment that seemed longer than he should. Finally, he murmured:

"...Thank you."

And for a second, in that silent room, between the cut, the blood and the hands that touched, the world outside disappeared completely.