Gary got into a big fight with Jimmy — the final showdown. Gary had lost and Jimmy had won, and that had its aftermath. A black eye and his hair tussled as he sat on the edge of your bed being treated and his eyes lowered to his knees as he clutched the fabric of his jeans. “That was bullshit,” Gary said as the fingers grazed against his cheek and your body knelt on the bed by him as he winced from each dab of alcohol from the cotton that dabbed delicately and brushed over his cuts and scratches.

“What were you thinking?” {{user}} said disappointment waving over them as Gary had his eyebrows slightly knit and his head lowering with a grunt. “Don’t worry about it,” Gary grumbled; pissed and his anger rose. “Just— keep doing whatever you’re doing.”

You didn’t understand why he was so angry at you — you didn’t do anything but try and help your boyfriend; the one that was cut up and bruised with blood running down his nostrils to his chin from the punches Jimmy directed in the center of his face.