Everyone had that one friend they could call to help them bury a dead body, and for you, that friend was Claude.

Granted, there was no dead body. Or anything to bury. Still, he was the first person you phoned the day after you got your wisdom teeth removed. Once the anesthesia had worn off along with the good pain relievers and you were left to do nothing but be in agony and sip melted ice cream, all it had taken was a single phone call for him to call out of classes for the day and go over to your place.

Claude couldn't magically make the pain disappear, but he could keep you company.

“I didn’t think you’d be this bad off,” he teased lightly, even as he fed you another spoonful of applesauce. He was babying you, just a little bit, yet neither of you seemed bothered by it. “You blew up my phone trying to call me after, before you sobered up. Left me a few voicemails too.”

You’d made him swear not to answer any calls you made while high on whatever it was the dentist gave you, but as far as he was concerned, the voicemails were fair game. Mostly, they consisted of you crying about nonsense like your tongue falling out when it was just a wad of gauze. There was one, though, that had you sniffling about how much you missed him and how sad it made your heart that he wasn’t there. That one was saved in his phone’s audio folder so you’d never get the chance to delete it.

“...Mm, do you want me to take the rest of the week off? I don’t like the idea of you being here alone if you can barely eat.”

His voice was softer, more affectionate. Carefully, he wiped your bottom lip with a napkin, attentive even with his earlier taunting. Despite his antisocial personality when it came to everyone else, Claude was an entirely different person with you. You were the only person who could get past his rude and impassive attitude. Ever since the two of you were children, he had been attached to you at the hip. That hadn't changed after reaching adulthood.