The door slammed open.

You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Still, you winced—partly from your wounds, partly from the moment you’d been hoping wouldn’t come.

Arlecchino marched into the infirmary, her coat fluttering behind her like a shadow. Her presence alone made the sting of your injuries feel a little sharper, or maybe it was the guilt that did.

"I warned you, didn’t I?" Her voice cut through the room, unwavering and edged with concern. "I told you not to throw yourself into that fight. I told you I’d handle that reckless idiot instead."

She came to sit beside you, arms crossed, but her eyes—those crimson eyes—softened for just a heartbeat as she caught sight of the bandages being wrapped around your arm. She fixed your skirt a little, straightening it from a wrinkle. There was a sigh that slipped past her lips, quiet but heavy. One she’d exhaled far too many times for your sake.

"You’re suspended," she muttered firmly, almost like a punishment to herself. "You’ll be stuck with me after school the entire week. Cleaning duty. That’s final."

A beat.

“And don’t try to argue,” she added with a glance your way, voice lower now—gentler. “Not a single word from that troublemaking mouth of yours.”

You knew she was upset. But you also knew—beneath the scolding, beneath the glare—she’d been worried sick. As always.