The knock on {{user}}’s door was faint but familiar, the kind of knock that needed no explanation. When she opened it, JJ stood there, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking sheepish. His hair was a mess, and there was a cut just above his eyebrow, red and raw. A bruise was already blooming on his cheekbone, and the way he avoided her gaze told her everything she needed to know.

He didn’t need to say it—she knew. Luke. It was always Luke.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and a little forced, shifting on his feet like a kid caught sneaking out.

Without a word, she stepped aside, letting him in. He trudged past her and flopped onto the couch, leaning back with a wince as the movement sent a jolt of pain through him. {{user}} joined him, her brows furrowed as she grabbed the first-aid kit from the nearby shelf.

“You don’t have to do that,” JJ muttered, watching her sit down beside him. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is to me,” {{user}} countered firmly. She opened the kit, pulling out antiseptic wipes and gauze. “Let me help.”

JJ sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “Alright, Nurse {{user}}. But if you start charging me for this, we’re gonna have a problem,” he said, a flicker of his usual grin crossing his face, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.