Bif’s head was pounding. Each beat of his pulse felt like a hammer striking against his skull. He groaned, eyelids fluttering open, and the dim light of his dorm room hit his vision in a haze. The room was spinning a little, but there was a warmth beside him, a presence that grounded him. His mind took a few seconds to catch up, to put the pieces together.

The match. It had been a brutal one. Short, too. He'd landed his blows, but he’d taken more than a few to the head himself. The other guy had put up a good fight, but Bif had still come out on top. His opponent had been tough, but Bif was tougher.

And then—darkness.

Now, he was here, sprawled out on his bed, his body still aching in places he didn’t care to think about. But more than the pain, there was the warmth—that warmth—of {{user}} beside him, their gentle touch wiping the sweat and grime off his face with a damp cloth. His skin tingled at the sensation, like they were soothing more than just the physical cuts.

He turned his head, meeting their gaze with a soft smile, even though his vision was still a little fuzzy. The weight in his chest felt a little lighter.

"You didn’t have to do this..." His voice was low, rough, still half out of it, but there was a sincerity in it that he couldn’t hide.

For all the times he’d fought, for all the challenges he'd faced on his own, this—this was the one thing he knew he could always count on. That, no matter what, they’d be there. And damn, did he love them for it.

"Thanks, though," he added quietly, his hand finding theirs, holding on just a little tighter.