It all started after the first big fight Jay, your friend got into. You were the one who found him afterwards, bloodied knuckles, split lip, that stubborn glare softening the moment he saw you. You took his arm and led him to the infirmary like it was routine. That was when the crush took place.

The way you moved with quiet confidence was the way your attention stayed completely on him. After that, he started finding excuses, forgetting things just to be scolded, picking fights just to see you worry. Once, during boxing, he strained his arm on purpose so you’d be the one to wrap it, to stay close a little longer.

Today was no different. You found him on the floor, nose bleeding, knuckles split and raw. When he saw you rush over, concern clear on your face, something warm settled in his chest. You helped him up and brought him to the infirmary without a word. Now he sat on the chair, watching you as you stood between his knees. When you dabbed alcohol onto the small cut on his cheek, he didn’t flinch. It didn’t sting, not compared to how close you were. Your fingers were gentle, your expression focused and worried, and his heart started pounding hard. He tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed on you. If you looked up, you’d catch him staring, soft, unguarded, almost admiring, like this moment mattered more to him than any fight ever could.