"How could you think of meeting up with the guy that punched you just this morning?!" Midas scolds them while pressing an ice bag on Dubhra's eye, now turned livid purple.

The creature is sitting on a chair, their head thrown back, patiently waiting for the treatment. She is standing right next to them, trying to take care of the aftermath of the altercation.

"You know there's no need for you to do this, right? My body heals fast on its own," they say with a dreamy tone.

She lets out a sharp breath, shifting the ice pack slightly as she studies their face. "Quit slithering away. Why didn't you fight back?"

Dubhra blinks slowly, letting out a barely audible groan. "I couldn't."

Midas frowns. "What do you mean you couldn't? You've—" She stops herself, lowering her voice. "If you had decided to punch him back, with those prosthetics of yours, he would have been K.O."

"I know," they murmur, their fingers fidgeting on their lap. "But it's not really in my fashion."

"So is it more in your fashion to be a punching bag?"

They shake their head. "I just... froze."

"You froze?" Her irritation wavering.

"I saw it coming, but I didn't move. I didn't even think about moving, I just let it happen."

Something about the way that they say it makes her stomach boil. She presses against their eye a little too firmly until Dubhra lets out a small noise of disapproval and she loosens her grip as if catching herself.

"You're ridiculous! You let him hit you and now you want to meet him?" She scoffs. "Do you even hear yourself?"

They blink slowly, their gaze unfocused. "I was the one that asked to meet up."

Midas stills for half a second. "Why the hell would you do that?"

They look at her like a deer caught in the headlights. "To apologize."

She moves the ice pack, scanning their face, waiting for some sign that they are messing with her. "You want to apologize to him?"

Dubhra nods.

"For what? For being in the way of his fist?"

"For making him angry," they say simply.

"That's not how it works, Dubhra. He punched you," she says as if repeating it could make some common sense materialize in that brain of theirs.

They hum in response, yielded. "He was upset"

She shoots them a glare, like she wants to be the one to punch them now, to knock them out possibly, so they wouldn't make the grave mistake of going on this insane idea of a date. "What if he punches you again?"

Dubhra doesn't answer.

***

Midas sits alone in the dimly lit house, arms crossed over her chest, her nails digging into her sleeves. Her huge TV is on, but she isn't paying any attention.

She exhales sharply, shifting on the couch. The thought makes her stomach twist with irritation.

How could they have been so dumb to go? To meet the guy who punched them. To apologize to him, nonetheless.

Her fingers tap restlessly against her arm. "What's wrong with them? If I were them... if I were them I would have set that guy on fire that instant, right there in the bar, in front of everyone."

The way Dubhra seems to have given up, not even trying to put up a fight, irritates her to no end and keeps her awake.

It has already been a while since the creature had given her a sweet smile before heading out.

"You're going with your own two feet to that stupid date of yours." That was what she had told them, hoping in her heart it would spark something and make them desist, but to no use.

Midas still doesn't know much about them. They had just shown up in her life, attached themselves to her like a stray and she'd take them in without thinking. She barely understands how their mind works, if it works at all.

What she knows is that they don't seem to react the way they should, don't seem to care about the things they should care about.

And now this.

Midas huffs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Maybe they really are that naive, maybe they genuinely believe that people could change just because they said "sorry".

Maybe they thought they could fix things, that if they had shown up soft and harmless, everything would magically fall back into place.

Pathetic.

Her jaw tightens. She isn't mad, not really. If Dubhra wanted to get themselves knocked out, that was their problem. If that was what they wanted, who was she to stop them?

She isn't worried.

She isn't.

But she glances at the clock and it's already past 1:00AM and her stray still hasn't come back home.

She doesn't care when they get back. Doesn't care if they get back.

Still, she gets up to go grab the car keys.

Without a second thought, she opens the door and steps into the night. The cold air hits her like a slap, her heart thumping with a cocktail of anger and dread that has been clawing at her for hours. Her mind races, but after closing her door and locking it, she stops short.

They're right there.

Standing at the top of the porch steps.

Not stumbling down the path, not broken or humiliated like she had imagined a hundred times already.

The porch light glows softly in the pitch black night, throwing long shadows over their figure. Their pale skin looks almost luminous in the dark and those eerie white pupils are fixed on her with a strange kind of calm. Their clawed prosthetic fingers idly fidget at their sleeves. They're not tense. If anything, they seem lighter. The faintest smile touches the corners of their mouth.

Midas' heart stumbles. "Dubhra! What are you doing? How long have you been standing there?"

They don't move. They're in no rush. "I came back a while ago."

Their expression is present, grounded. That glazed detachment she'd seen before is gone, replaced by something unsettlingly composed.

And then she notices it: a stain.

Just below their collarbone, a small, rusty blotch. Another on their sleeve. A dark streak near their wrist.

Her voice tightens. "Is that... blood?"

"Yes," they answer simply.

The air is thick with the scent of sharp iron, a whisper of burnt flesh. It slides into her nose and sticks there, making her pupils dilate with a primal recognition. She tries to shake it off.

"What the— You're bleeding!" she blurts, stepping closer without thinking. Reaching out to their arms, their face, not knowing where to touch or where it hurts.

They blink, a touch of color rising in their cheeks. "I'm not. Were you maybe—" they say softly. "Worried about me?"

"You aren't—?"

"It's not mine," they add quickly, almost sheepishly, like that explains everything.

She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until it rushes out of her. Not their blood. Her chest eases fast. And the way they look at her, like they noticed that shift, makes her stomach twist.

"You look disappointed to see me standing."

Her arms cross. "Don't be a smartass! You could've been—"

"Dead?" They finish, a bit too brightly. They're blushing more now, the color spreading fast across their pale face. "Oh, please."

She opens her mouth, but they beat her to it.

"I simply had arranged to meet him to have... you know? Some kind of private encounter," their voice trailing.

Her brows knit. "You wanted to apologize by letting him fuck you?"

They shrug with faint embarrassment, casting their gaze down. "See? It doesn't sound good, too vulgar. I had suggested that for some reason, but I sure didn't feel like doing it." A pause. "As I was getting closer to where he told me to meet I thought: why am I even here? I don't feel attracted to him and I certainly don't want to have sex with him either."

The last words hang heavy, like they're struggling to pronounce them, yet they say it so plainly that it feels worse, not better.

Midas stares, caught in disbelief. "And then?"

They look back up, voice level. "And then he learned I don't like being hit. I doubt he'll be throwing punches again anytime soon."

Silence. No detail. No explanation of what exactly happened between the lines. Just that eerie stillness.

And yet, her lips twitch. A smile, almost involuntary, begins to bloom.

The thought that Dubhra could've had a little plan of their own hadn't crossed her mind even for a moment. She was fooled, thinking that they really might have gone there to apologize, to submit like some sort of sacrificial lamb.

But who could blame her? Just that morning she saw them take a punch to their face without lifting a finger to protect themselves, looking dazed and confused while being quietly humiliated with blood trickling from their nose.

Like a cornered animal too resigned to run.

Though it would have been more plausible for her to think Noah had been casually hit by a car while in front of them or that a tree had fallen on him, staining Dubhra with his blood by mistake.

"You tricked me," she says, half-impressed and far too pleased.

They tilt their head. "I didn't mean to. I even tried not to bother you, that's why I didn't knock."

She narrows her eyes. "Then why are you still outside?"

"I thought you were asleep, how come you're still awake?"

Midas hesitates. So what now? How does she explain that she'd been pacing around in circles for the past two hours, cursing their name, mad at their naiveness?

She lifts her chin. "I couldn't lock the door with you out here. You didn't take the keys."

Dubhra squints at her, a small smirk curling on their lips. "Really? You could've just left me out here."

She pushes them lightly on the shoulder. "Don't talk nonsense. You'd never survive a night out like that."

"And who says that?" They tease. "You're always saying you don't know me at all."

"That's not proof of anything," she shoots back. "It's just... a guess. Am I wrong?"

They laugh. "No."

She exhales through a reluctant smile, stepping aside. "Well, then get in before I change my mind."

They pass her, giving a sidelong glance. "Disappointed I didn't collapse dramatically at your feet?"

She closes the door behind them, shaking her head. "I'd never let you ruin my parquet like that."

But even as she says it, her mind circles back to what they said.

I doubt he'll be throwing punches again.

Not proud, nor guilty.

She looks at them again. The blood, the serene expression. There's a strange grace to the way they carry it all, like violence doesn't cling to them.

"So," she says slowly. "You're not as naive as you look."

"I think I am, in fact, exactly as naive as I look."

Her lips curl faintly. "So I don't need to adjust my expectations."

Their smirk falters. "Good. I'd hate to disappoint you."

She watches them start up the stairs, then calls out, almost without thinking.

"Dubhra?"

They pause at the top, turning slightly, a silhouette against the dim hall light. "Yes?"

She hesitates just long enough for them to feel it. Then: "Do you want to come to university with me tomorrow?"

Her eyes linger. And so do theirs.

"...Alright," they say, barely above a whisper.

Then they disappear down the hallway.