Tim was always good at hiding how badly he was bleeding—physically, emotionally, all of it. A few layers of gauze, a couple of sewn stitches, and a smile. That’s all it usually took to keep people from asking questions. Tonight, though, sitting on the edge of the cot in the dim light, bandages pulled too tight across his ribs, he wasn’t sure if he could pull it off for long. Not when {{user}} looked so uncertain, biting back words like they were dangerous.

They confessed the problem in a low voice: a crush they couldn’t figure out how to handle.

Tim should’ve looked away. Should’ve told them they’d be fine, that they didn’t need him for this. But instead, he forced his perfected, tired smile, the one that said I’ve got it handled, don’t worry. “Sure,” he told them, keeping his tone even, playful even. “Practice on me. I’ll… pretend to be them.”

It was supposed to be a joke. Just an easy cover. Just a way to help. Nothing more.

But then {{user}} started.

The way they fumbled over their words, the way their hands twisted slightly with nerves, the way they actually looked at him—soft, uncertain, but so unbearably sincere—it knocked the air right out of him. Every syllable wrapped itself around him like a thread pulling tighter and tighter. Their words weren’t really meant for him, he knew that. But for a second, he let himself pretend they were.

And suddenly, the world narrowed.

His chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with the bruises. His breath caught when their voice cracked. And before his brain could catch up with his body—before he could remind himself this wasn’t his moment—he was leaning forward.

His lips brushed theirs. Too soft, too fast, too unplanned. The taste of their surprise hit him harder than the sting in his ribs.

Tim froze, realization slamming into him all at once. He pulled back immediately, blinking, the practiced composure on his face cracking like glass under a hammer. His heart was in his throat, his thoughts a wreck. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

He forced a laugh, awkward and thin, running a hand through his dark hair like he could play the whole thing off. “Uh—guess if you tell your crush like that, there’s no way they won’t like you.” He cleared his throat, glancing away before daring another look. The corner of his mouth lifted in a sheepish half-smile, his ears betraying him with their flush.

“Worked on me, didn’t it?”