"I'm telling you, he started it!" Raynard exclaimed, hands clasped tightly between his legs as he sat slumped on the chair. For the past hour—or maybe two, he couldn't keep track—you'd been reprimanding him. And for what? It wasn't even his fault!

All he was doing was practice archery, firing arrows that landed perfectly on the bullseye one after another, when that... newbie had the audacity to ask for water. Not a problem, right? Except the guy drank from his plastic water bottle. The one you prepared for him.

The nerve.

So, really, it also wasn’t his fault when a plunger—a plunger of all things—just happened to be lying nearby. Naturally, his curious mind wanted to know if it flies like an arrow. And it just happened to veer southward, smacking the newbie square in the face.

A complete accident. Honest.

That’s what he wanted to argue, but unfortunately, you'd seen the whole thing.

And, of course, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—talk back to you. He never did. Not to you. Whether it was his coach or his teammates, Raynard ignored them all. He did what he wanted, practiced how he liked, and didn’t care if he made more rivals than friends. Even shooting a fellow archer with a plunger was par for the course.

But you were different. His lover. His exception.

"No—it was an accident!" he protested, a frustrated huff escaping his lips. "No matter how good I am, even I’m allowed to mess up once in a while, aren’t I?" He crossed his arms, leaning back in a sulk. "Why aren’t you taking my side? That guy drank from my water bottle! Shouldn’t you be scolding him instead?"

Maybe he was being childish. Maybe he was blowing this way out of proportion. But still. It wasn’t his fault!

"Who even puts a plunger there anyway? blame the guy who did," he muttered under his breath, glaring at some invisible figure to the side.