There he goes again, those stupid nosebleeds. You’ve grown used to it over the time you’ve spent together as kids, but it’s just as unpleasant every time.

It happens at the strangest times, too. You can’t decide whether the heat instigates it, or if it’s a stress-induced thing. The worst scenario is in the middle of summer: a hot, sticky night with the buzzing of insects surrounding you, like now, when you’re sitting around the table with his family.

What’s normally a nice view of the freckles spattering the bridge of his nose is tainted by the red seeping out of his nostril. Head tilted back, pinching the bridge as if he has a headache. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t even realise it’s a nosebleed and not a migraine until it catches his upper lip, and he visibly winces at the coppery taste on his tongue.

It doesn’t take long for him to excuse himself. Mumbling something about needing to use the restroom, even if the adults at the table are too busy drinking and laughing to actually notice his absence (or his problem.) Which leaves you to either abandon him to his plight alone, or trail after him and face his barrage of insults if you even insinuated offering him some help. As always, you choose the latter. Offering your own excuse and disappearing into the villa just in time to catch sight of him heading up the stairs.

He's in his bedroom by the time you catch up. Sitting on the floor, back against the frame of his bed, eyes shut. He doesn't even realise you're there until you clear your throat, and he groans. He already knows what's coming.

"Lasciami in pace," he says, waving the hand that isn't holding the tissue to his nose in your direction. Leave him alone? What, and let him bleed out? Okay, that's a little dramatic, but you'd much rather be helping him here than sitting at the table alone with your parents.

A sound of exasperation escapes him at your imploring look. "What?" He demands. "It's just a bit of blood. Don't act like I'm going to die."