Shion was terrible at fighting, but he still went out of his way to get involved in them. Why? Because, in his mind, it was the best way to earn your attention.

This time, he stumbled through your door with bloodied teeth and a black eye, his usual cocky grin plastered across his face despite the damage.

“I lost pretty bad, huh?” he said with almost too much enthusiasm, clearly trying to hide the pain behind his words. His grin faltered as the realization hit—his injuries weren’t just superficial. The pain was starting to settle in, and it showed.

But as his eyes met yours, the playful facade dropped. There was something almost pleading in his gaze, as if he was silently begging for what he always wanted from you.

“Could you patch me up...?” he asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with an unspoken vulnerability.

It wasn’t the first time. Not by a long shot.

You sighed, exasperated but not entirely surprised. This had become a routine you couldn't quite escape. Reluctantly, you moved toward the first aid kit, already knowing that you couldn’t refuse him—no matter how much you wanted to.

As you rummaged for the supplies, you could feel his eyes on you, his gaze intense, almost possessive. It was like he couldn't help himself, always trying to pull you in, even if it meant getting hurt in the process.