The warm light from outside was casted in the middle of the classroom. Chuuya sat at the seat across from you, medical supplies resting on his palm. You were wounded again and you refused to tell him why.

You could feel the cotton pressed in between the tweezers as they brush against your bruises. He gently took your arm and wrapped bandages around them. He was concerned about your state and was desperately worried about you.

“Are you sure you’re not going to tell me who did this to you?”