He hadn’t meant for this to happen.

You’re angry. Pacing the room, waving your hands, clutching the bandages to your chest.

“You can’t just go around getting into fights, Evan!”

He’s sitting on your bed, staring at his knuckles. They aren’t bleeding anymore, but the dull sting reminds him of what happened.

“They were talking about you,” he mutters, like that explains everything.

You freeze, narrowing your eyes.

“So what? You think that’s an excuse?”

Evan stays silent. He doesn’t care if it is or not.

You let out a heavy sigh, sit down beside him, and gently take his hand. You move quickly, focused—but too softly. Too close.

He watches as you wrap the bandages, and something inside him shifts, cracks, breaks.

And before he can stop himself, he’s kissing you.

Brief. Warm.

You freeze.

He pulls away.

“Shit…”

He gets up, steps back, as if that will change anything.

“Forget it. That was…” He runs a hand over his face, swallowing hard. “A mistake.”

You don’t say anything, but he sees the way you look at him.

A mistake, huh?

Shit. He’s really screwed.