“It’s not bleeding anymore, I—I think. That’s good, right? I mean—“ Helplessly, I stuttered, pressing the wet paper into his face as gently as I could. He didn’t even flinch, didn’t make a single sound. 

“I should know about this, I’m trying to study medicine. But I’m so helpless right now, this is embarrassing.” I giggled awkwardly, but even then, he didn’t react. His eyes continued to be fixated on me. He was way too close. Heat rushed into my head, blurring my mind. 

“H-Hopefully it’s not broken? It doesn’t look broken, so … Does—Does it hurt?”

“Not really.” From cursing to the hell and back, to being so quiet and polite. What was all that about? He lied, didn’t he? Of course, it hurt!

“What happened?” I whispered. 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“Of—Of course, it matters! If someone hit you, you should report them to a teacher—“ 

His scoff interrupted me, and his head cocked to the side. “Are you serious? Do you know who you’re talking to?” 

Immediately, I blushed. Telling Oliver, who was reported to the principal about twenty times the last school year alone, to report someone … What was I thinking? They wouldn’t even bother taking him seriously. 

“S-Sorry, I just—I mean, your face—“ I pat the toilet paper, which had turned into a moist ball, against his chin.

Though his face was mostly clean, you could clearly see the aftermaths of a fight atop his skin. Reddened all over, a bruise on his cheek, his eye already swelling and changing color. I gulped, and wasn’t sure what to do. My chin trembled — this was too overwhelming. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Oliver whispered. 

I squirmed and pouted. “I saw you running back from behind the gym. You were with those friends of yours, right?” 

“…” Oliver sighed, refusing to answer.

“Your friends did this to you? Your friends are beating you up? Why? You can’t call those your friends!” 

“That’s just how they are.” 

“Oliver!” His cheek throbbed, and felt incredibly hot to the touch. When my fingers grazed his face, rubbing along his jawline to clean the last bits of dust, my heart beat all the louder. 

A quiet squeak escaped me when Oliver, who’d leaned against the wall and been so passive until now, bent forward, his large fingers clenching around my wrist. His face came closer, and closer, and his knuckles at my wrist stared right at me. 

Red, swollen, skin chafed. Just as much as he’d been beaten, he’d fought back. His clothes carried dust and pebbles all over, as if they had squirmed across the dirty ground in a heated exchange. Even in his short hair, dirt stuck to him. 

“Why are you so upset?” he asked me with a deep rasp in his voice. 

“I’m just worried,” I mumbled, my eyes having no escape. Either, I looked him dead in the eye, or I stared at his jawline, his neckline, his chest — no matter what, it turned my mind into a hot mess. 

“Why?”

“Shouldn’t I worry about my classmate when he comes back looking like this?” 

“Your classmate?” 

I gulped, stutters for a breath escaping my mouth. We stared at each other, but the fingers he held me with trembled just as much as I did. Whatever he tried to imply, it went both ways. 

“Is—Is that why you told me to stay away from them? Because they hurt people for fun?” 

“…” 

“You tried to protect me?”

Ever so slightly, he retreated, but it wasn’t any noteworthy distance. He remained close, nonetheless, the scent of his perfume piercing my nostrils. “They’re bad people.” 

“Why are you friends with them, then?” 

Oliver looked down at me, his fingertips tickling across my sensitive wrist. My own fingers, ever so barely, touched his bruised cheek. Investigating every inch of my face, he was quiet for a moment that felt like eternity. Showing off his bruised knuckles after a deep breath, he was finally ready to speak. 

“Because I’m not a good guy, either.” 

My heart beat harder and harder out of my chest. Gulping, my throat dried up, and so did my lips as I exhaled through them. 

A warning. His words meant caution. 

Whatever opinion you made about me, you’re wrong — is that what he meant? Me thinking there was more to those rumors than his horrible behavior, was I wrong for it? Spending time with you, and thinking the best of you, was wrong? 

Did he tell me to stay away?

Or did he wonder whether I’d be fine with the consequences if I didn’t? 

Oliver didn’t let go of me. If he wanted me to leave him alone, to stop bothering him and let him drown in his own problems, he should have let go of my wrist. He warned me, and yet, he didn’t want me to go anywhere. 

He warned me, and yet … I didn’t believe it. The Oliver who’d studied so diligently with me, trying to understand our assigned homework only days prior — that was the Oliver I cared about. 

His eyes were too intense, numbing my mind. I cleared my throat, jerked about, and tried my hardest to avoid the dark brown I lost myself in. 

“You—You tell me that now, after I let you into my home?” I stuttered. There was no other response I could think of but a joke, trying to lift the intense air out of the restrooms we stood in. “You didn’t steal anything, did you?” 

His eyes opened all the wider, as far as they could with the bruises decorating his face. An ever so faint tremble dominated his lips and before I knew it, he chuckled. Loosening his fingers around my wrist, he let out a quick laugh, the corners of his mouth rising upwards. His eyes lit up in an unknown sense — a genuine smile I’d never, ever seen before. 

He had such a handsome smile.