The hallway echoed with silence. The school lights were flickering just slightly, casting shadows that mirrored Gavin’s mood. Sitting on the cold staircase, his lip split and knuckles raw, he silently dabbed a tissue against the corner of his mouth—one that probably did more smearing than cleaning.

Then, a flick. Right to the side of his head.

"Ow—HEY!" He looked up, already scowling—until he saw you standing there. Arms crossed. Holding a first aid kit like it was about to go to war.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing out here like a beaten-up noodle?"

Gavin winced—not from the pain, but from the shame.

"I was… studying street law. You wouldn’t get it."

You snorted. Loudly.

"Yeah? And the bruises? Bonus chapter?"

He tried to shrug but winced again. You sighed, sitting beside him, cracking open the kit. The first sting of alcohol hit and he sucked in a breath.

"Tch. Baby."

"Don’t call me th—"

You flicked him again.

"Say ‘thank you’, Gav."

He looked away, face red despite everything. "...Thanks."

And maybe, just maybe, that flick to the head hurt less than how fast you made his heart beat.