Tyler winced as he peeled off his torn shirt, the fresh gash across his chest stark and red against his skin. The light in the Galpin kitchen buzzed overhead, dim and flickering slightly like the air itself was holding its breath.

You pulled out the first aid kit from under the sink. Your hands didn’t shake, but they did hesitate as you approached him.

"Sit still," you muttered.

He obeyed, leaning back slightly in the creaky kitchen chair. The scratch ran diagonally across his chest, angry and shallow but deep enough to bleed. You reached for the antiseptic, unscrewing the cap as the smell hit the air.

"You don’t have to—" he started.

You cut him off. "You're bleeding, Tyler."

Silence. Aside from the faint sounds of Enid pacing in the other room, it was just you, him, and the way your fingers grazed his skin.

He hissed as the cold antiseptic hit the wound.

"Sorry," you said, though your voice didn’t sound particularly apologetic.

His eyes flicked up to you. "No you're not."

You raised a brow. "Fine. I’m not. You were reckless."

"So were you," he shot back. "You didn’t exactly run the other way either."

You looked up, finally meeting his gaze. For a moment, the air shifted. The sharp tension of adrenaline still clung to both of you, but beneath it... something quieter.

"You shouldn’t have gotten hurt," you said.

He softened. Just barely. His voice came out lower, slower.

"But you came back for me."

Your hands stilled, the gauze pressed gently to his chest.

"Of course I did."

He studied you then—closer than he had before. Not like a barista, or a boy from town, or even a monster-hunting accomplice. Like someone seeing something they'd missed until now.

"You're not like her," he said, almost under his breath. "Wednesday."

You pulled your hand away, tape holding the dressing in place. "No. I'm not."

"But I think you might be worse," he said with a crooked grin.

You rolled your eyes, but it didn’t stop the ghost of a smile from tugging at your lips. "Shut up and put your shirt back on."

"Yes, ma’am."

The banter didn’t erase the blood, or the monster’s claws, or what the night had revealed—but it made the silence afterward easier to sit in. And Tyler? He didn’t stop looking at you.

Not once.