“I could've told you that this was inevitable, especially on a night as supercharged as Family Night, my dear, sweet Nathaniel,” Emma sighed, reclined into the couches of the student lounge with a bag of potato chips from the vending machines in the crook of her arm. In her hands was a tome of a classic novel, which she had unceremoniously torn off the dust cover to reveal its gilded title and author. “The fact that you didn't think that could happen suggests you're dumber than you think. Which you are.”

“It's nothing.” Nate would've sneered back, but his face throbbed in protest, and even the thought of contorting it into anything resembling a smirk made him wince and groan. He’d woken up that morning to find his lip split again, the remnants of last night's brawl decorating his pillow in dried blood. Under the hot water of the shower, he'd discovered his torso and thighs were speckled with bruises, all shaped like the unmistakable impressions of Sam's fists. Nate would've been angry if he wasn't still so impressed at the sheer magnitude of Sam's rage.

“I'm more annoyed that I wasn't here for it.”

He rolled his eyes, leaning back against the lounge chair, pressing a hand to his swollen lip, not caring that he probably looked like a half-decent caricature of himself. “If I'm honest, everyone's just bigging it up. It's not that serious.”

“Not that serious?” someone asked, and Nate drew his attention back to the gaggle of students who settled around them. It was some sophomore girl who had spoken, with wild red hair and green eyes, who leaned forward with a menacing sparkle as she elaborated, “Guys, Sam was, like, an animal. Tearing and thrashing. It was like something from a nature documentary.”

In a way, Nate liked that, the favor being tipped towards him, always. But this time was not one of those instances. “He wasn't eating me,” he clarified. “We threw a few punches. No big deal.”

“So it wasn't that serious, huh?” Emma asked, incredulous. She tossed a chip into her mouth with exaggerated slowness and sat up, abandoning her book while carefully tabbing down the corner of the page she hadn't finished. “Come on. Two of the biggest egos on campus, duking it out?”

“I bet it'll be on the front page of the school newspaper soon,” someone else said. “'Scholarship Boy and Golden Boy Fight It Out, Finally'.”

Nate grimaced at that.

“And what was it over, in the end?” Emma posited. “Something you shouldn't have happened in the first place?”

“It'll blow over,” Nate sighed, waving her off as though it was a minor inconvenience. “I'll let Watson's panties untangle themselves, and by next week, we'll be back to our normal selves. He'll get me back for the fake detention notice I did for him in September, –”

“Classic.”

“That was you?” someone asked.

“– I'll get him back for the time he put itching powder in my soccer cleats, –”

“That was hilarious,” another said, but quickly tacked on, “but bad.”

“– and everything will be right as rain.” Nate sat forward, interlocking his fingers as he stared out across the room, his gaze distant and thoughtful. The path forward seemed as clear as a moonlit desert night, the endless stretch of the night sky beckoning. It almost felt too easy, too certain for everything to slot back into place. “In fact, I have a plan for tomorrow, to get the ball rolling, again.”

His gaggle of student cooed, encouraging Nate to tell all.

Emma’s expression, however, hardened as she stared, the bemusement she usually wore in these conversations fading entirely. She didn’t even make a sound at first, just shaking her head with a faint, almost pitying look in her eyes. “Hold back on that, Nate. The guy asked you to keep away from his friends and family.”

“I said sorry,” he countered. He couldn't understand why it was such a big deal. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the way the conversation was moving. Again, it wasn't like Sam's sister got hurt from it.

“Yeah, but he still asked you.” Her voice was blunt now, laced with a quiet seriousness that made him frown.

Nate wrinkled his nose, turning away from her, his voice dropping into something more dismissive. “He's just being a massive baby, Emma. At least no bodily harm came to her, right? It was just a prank.”

“Yeah, Canmore,” another student said. “Take it easy, won't you.”

She ignored them and hummed, reopening her book. “I just think you're not taking this seriously, as per usual. This wasn't some small thing that spiraled out of control. You broke the guy's trust.” She tilted her head back toward him, the edges of her mouth pulling into a mocking sneer. “I still wish I was there to see him pummel you.”

He grimaced, winced at the attempt, and glanced away. For a moment, he wasn't sure if he felt more embarrassed or frustrated by the cruelty in her tone, the underlying accusation. He knew what he had done. Sam knew what he had done. Sure, it was an accident, and Sam, no doubt, knew it, too. Nate was not carelessly savage; he did have a code of conduct despite no one really knowing what it was. All of it was just a game. Maybe he'd gone too far, sure, but wasn't this punishment enough? Having his beautiful face being beaten up?

Finally, he huffed. “You're such a casual masochist.”

“Yet you still love me,” she sang, her eyes drifting back to the block of text in front of her. “I suppose that's what a best friend does, right?”

He sat there, blinking, trying to muster some kind of comeback, but nothing came. For a moment, his mouth opened, ready to lash back, but only air caught in his throat. Nate looked away, blinking rapidly, as if he could force the awkward silence away. It didn’t work.

“Look, unsolicited advice aside, what do I know?” Emma sighed, pressing a chip into her mouth. She crunched it loudly, and it shattered like glass. “You know him better than I do. It all might just blow over by next week.”

Expression turning contemplative, he waved at some passing underclassmen who were staring from across the student lounge. Some had taken out their phones to take pictures of the bruised and beaten “Golden Boy”, though Nate didn't really consider this to be a problem. Within less than twenty-four hours of Sam first punching him, the whole school knew.

“It'll be fine,” he said, his voice more uncertain than he would’ve liked. He leaned back, almost too relaxed, as if that would somehow make the reality easier to swallow. “It'll blow over. I'm sure of it.”