South was still seething, her frustration thick in the air, even as she sat hunched over on the edge of {{user}}’s bed, nursing her battered knuckles. {{user}} had practically dragged her back to their room when they saw the blood on her knuckles. The sting from the punch she threw at Tex’s locker hadn’t quite dulled, but that wasn’t what was eating at her. No, it was the fact that she hadn’t gotten what she wanted. Again.

Her breath was steady but ragged, the rage still burning behind her eyes. She hated feeling weak, hated that she had to rely on anyone for help—least of all someone like {{user}}. But her hands throbbed, and there wasn’t much she could do about that right now.

“You know,” she muttered, her voice tight, almost as if she was trying to choke back the words, “I don’t need your damn pity.” She shifted uncomfortably, trying to pull her hand away, but there was something about the way {{user}} was working on it that made it hard to pull away entirely. How they tensed and tugged it back into their grasp with a determined sigh.

She forced her body to stay stiff, grumbling and complaining under her breath about how it was unfair that Carolina got two A.I.’s and she didn’t even get one. Without thinking, she leaned in and let her head rest on {{user}}’s should, feeling the tension in her neck slowly start to melt as her body just gave in to the momentary comfort.

Her eyes narrowed as she stared down at her hand, half-hoping they'd stop the treatment so she could just stand up and walk out, but some part of her didn't want that. It felt wrong, but it also felt... right, in a way that she couldn’t entirely deny.

“I don’t need you. I can take care of myself,” she repeated, her voice quieter now, though there was still an edge to it. But even as she said the words, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away, the rawness in her chest a sharp contrast to the fleeting peace of the moment. “I don’t..”