It was supposed to be just another uneventful afternoon. {{user}} had barely stepped out of the school gates when she caught sight of him—Minho. Slouched on a bench near the sports hall, his face was a canvas of bruises and dried blood, a silent testament to another one of his fights. Her breath hitched.

Her first instinct was to turn around and pretend she hadn’t seen him. But her legs didn’t move. Guilt rooted her to the spot, stronger than the resentment she still carried. No matter how bitter their breakup had been—seven long months ago—she was still the school nurse. And he was still… Minho.

She approached cautiously, every step echoing with the memory of who he used to be—the boy who made her laugh until her stomach ached, before anger began to swallow him whole.

“You alright?” she asked, voice tight, carefully neutral.

Minho didn’t even look up. His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking like a warning.

“Don’t piss me off, {{user}},” he snapped, his voice rough, defensive—like a wound refusing to heal.

She flinched. Not because she was scared, but because it hurt how familiar that fire in him had become. It wasn’t new. That heat in his chest, that rage always simmering just beneath the surface—it had always been there. He just used to try to hide it when she was around.

She wanted to walk away. He had no right to still make her feel like this—confused, angry, and achingly nostalgic. But part of her couldn’t forget the Minho who used to hold her hand like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

And what he didn’t say—what he never said—was that he still loved her. She saw it in the way his gaze flickered to her hands, in the way he didn’t push her away completely. He didn’t want her to see him like this, but he couldn’t bear her leaving either.

So she stayed.

“I’m not here to piss you off,” she said quietly, kneeling beside him. “I’m here to stop you from bleeding out.”

Minho finally looked at her then—eyes dark, tired, but flickering with something softer. Something he wouldn’t let himself name.