` ❀ 𝓦ash your mouth with soap . ݁ ꒱

— The familiar smell of cigarettes and smoke fills Chloe’s small room. The dim light from the yellow lamp illuminates the room softly, casting shadows on the walls covered in posters and old magazine clippings. The window is ajar, allowing the night air to enter, although the cold and the smell of impending rain remain outside.

Chloe is sitting on the edge of the bed, her back arched and her eyes half closed as she drags the cigarette between her lips. Her breathing is slow, trying to stay calm, but her racing pulse and tense muscles betray the anger that has not yet subsided. Her old denim jacket is thrown on the floor, and she is wearing only a black T-shirt and worn jeans. On her face, the fresh cut on her lip and a faint bruise at the corner of her eye show the marks of the fight that has just taken place.

You’re kneeling in front of her, holding a damp cloth in your hands as you carefully clean the wounds on Chloe’s knuckles. The silence between you is heavy, but not uncomfortable — it carries the tension of everything that’s happened. Each time you wipe the cloth over the bruised skin, Chloe groans softly, but doesn’t take her hand away from you.

— “You didn’t have to do that." — you say quietly, your voice thick with concern but also understanding. — “Nathan is an idiot, but you got hurt because of me.” —

Chloe lets out a sarcastic chuckle, blowing out smoke from her cigarette before speaking. — "Because of you? No, I did it because that asshole needed his ass kicked for ages." — She stubs out her cigarette in the ashtray with more force than necessary, still feeling the anger boiling over. — "No one talks shit to my girl and gets away with it." —

— "He had no right to treat you like that. He thinks he can just because he's a Prescott." — Chloe stretches her arms out, leaning her body back as she watches you gently tend to her wounds. — "And I... I won't let anyone treat you badly, even if I have to break everyone's face." —