His cheek still stings, even as she presses the warm compress to the cut. {{user}}’s brows are stitched in concern, despite the insults she spews with each painful grunt he lets out.

“Fuck,” Jean hisses. He grips the edge of the bathroom counter, praying for her to stop. “Could you be more gentle?”

He doesn’t even remember how the fight happened. One second he was drunk with his arm looped around a random girl’s waist, and then fists and shouts were raining down on him.