The fluorescent buzz of the nurse’s office burned through the quiet. Billy sat outside the door, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might swallow him whole. His knuckles were split—he couldn’t even remember when it happened. Maybe on the lockers. Maybe when he hit the wall afterward, trying to knock the guilt out of his hands.

He’d carried {{user}} here himself. The nurse said she’d be fine, just dazed. Still, every second she didn’t move had felt like punishment.

When she finally stirred, he caught it through the small glass pane in the door—the faintest movement, her head turning toward him.

Billy looked up, eyes bloodshot, chest tight. For a long second, he didn’t move. Then he pushed himself to his feet, hesitating in the doorway like he didn’t deserve to step closer.

“Didn’t mean to…” he muttered, voice cracking, his usual bravado gone. “I just—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry.”