"Fuck, Vince," Ethan mumbled, clutching the boy's chin in his hand. He used his grip to turn Vincent's head sideways, eyes raking over the fresh bruise. An amateur could tell that, in a matter of hours, the hit would manifest itself in an ugly, purple mark at the side of Vincent's pretty face. "I am so sorry."

   Vincent rolled his eyes. At first, he'd found Ethan's concern and restlessness endearing—kind of cute, even. But now, the boy had apologized seemingly a million times, and Vincent was growing tired of it. That, and he still couldn't shake the anger that'd seethed him as soon as he was set down on the chair in the nurse's office.

   Not only had Ethan been purposely ignoring him, but now he'd also punched him?

   Before Ethan could spew more bullshit—probably another damn apology—the young nurse burst into the room, taking in the scene before her with wide eyes and a startled expression.

   "Oh!" she squealed adorably. "Pardon, I didn't know anyone was in here," she explained, quickly gaining composure and plastering a sweet smile on her face. "Now, what do we have here?"

   She got closer to Vincent, shooting Ethan an amused look as he had yet to release Vincent's chin. She held back a smirk, taunting, "Do you mind?"

   Ethan jumped slightly at the embarrassing realization, cheeks tinged pink as he moved back a bit farther than necessary. Vincent winced once she touched his reddening face.

   She gave him an apologetic smile, "Sorry, hun. What happened to you?"

   Vincent gulped nervously, looking back at Ethan in a silent plea. He'd never been a good liar, and the last thing he wanted to do was say something suspicious and end up getting Ethan into trouble. Mad as he was, he believed Ethan when he said the punch had been unintentional.

   Ethan quickly caught on, scouring his brain for a believable excuse. "I accidentally hit him in the face with my ball."

   Stupidly enough, Ethan gave no further context, initially unaware of the underlying meaning of his words. Vincent choked on his own spit, sputtering as a deep blush tainted his cheeks.

   Ms. Cooper—lip bitten to conceal a smile—was unable to keep the amusement out of her voice as she turned to Ethan, "You hit him with your what, now?"

   At first, Ethan furrowed his brows in confusion, but it took him mere seconds to recount what he'd said, eyes growing as wide as saucers when he did. "Oh—oh—no! That sounded wrong, oh god. Oh god, no..."

   He shut his eyes, taking a minute to compose himself with steady, deep breaths. "What I meant was, we were playing dodge ball during P.E. and I might've thrown it a bit too hard," he managed, priding himself on keeping his cool. "But I really didn't mean to."

   The sheer honesty and sincerity in the last sentence made Vincent look up at Ethan, only to find that the other boy had already been staring at him. Still unwilling to let down his guard, Vincent wore a poker face—the only response he offered was a slight nod of his head.

   Ms. Cooper looked between the two, eyebrow raised skeptically. She briefly wondered whether Ethan, the tough jock, had been bullying the admittedly weaker art nerd. Unable to ignore the nagging sensation in her heart, she asked Ethan to step out of the room. He didn't protest, but didn't make a move to leave until he'd given Vincent a reassuring gaze, silently confirming that he would be waiting outside. Vincent, though he would never admit it, found more comfort in the gesture than he probably should've.

   As soon as the door closed shut, Ms. Cooper turned to him with a frantic expression, startling him. "Ethan isn't giving you any trouble, is he?"

   Vincent didn't understand what she'd meant exactly, so he cocked his head to the side, resembling a puppy. "Wha—Trouble?"

   She sighed, "You know, does he tease you or anything? Is this the first time he's harmed you?"

   Vincent's jaw went slack, as he quickly refuted, "No!" he shouted, only realizing how loud his voice was when the petite nurse flinched. "No, Ethan would never hurt me," he repeated much more calmly.

   Her once tense shoulders visibly sink, though the pointed look remains in her eyes. "You would tell me—tell anyone—if he does, right?"

   He nodded his head, smiling at her thoughtfulness. "Don't worry; it's not like that. Trust me."

   She sighed, disappearing behind a curtain and coming back with an ice pack in hand. "Keep this on your cheek and you should be fine. It'll bring down the swelling. If you feel any unusual headaches, nausea, or dizziness in the next 24 hours, tell an adult to take you to the hospital immediately."

   "Hospital?" he echoed, slightly alarmed. If there were anything Vincent hated, it was hospitals. He shuddered at the thought of being in one. 

   "It's very unlikely, but the hit could've given you a concussion," she explained. "But I wouldn't worry about it. Just a precaution."

   Vincent nodded apprehensively, moving to get out of the stuffy room. He could still see Ethan's faint outline through the opaque glass door. Before he could get far, though, he was stopped. "I'm always here if you want to talk about anything. And I'm not just saying that. God knows, you kids deal with a lot more than you can handle. If there's anything I can do to make it better, please let me know."

   The boy felt his heart swell at her words. She didn't realize the effect that had on him, how what she'd said made him want to curl into her embrace and cry for days.

   Instead, he mustered up the courage to offer a shaky smile, "Thanks."

   Before he could break out into a sob and embarrass himself, he bolted out the door. Ethan, who'd been leaning against the wall and staring into space, immediately looked up. He smiled nervously, his heart going haywire. 

   "Van Gogh," he breathed, the sudden instinct to reach out and pull the boy into him leaving him startled. "I'm really—"

   Vincent raised his hand, effectively shutting the boy up. "Save it, Ethan. I get it, you're sorry." He paused for a second, voice sounding much softer as he said, "Is it okay if you give me a ride home?"

   Ethan made incredulous gestures, exclaiming, "Of course! It's the least I can do."

   The two boys drove in silence, both of them aching to alleviate the silence but not knowing what to say. Ethan's mind was running wild, guilt eating him up from the inside. It wasn't just about the punch. No, he was well aware of how poorly he'd been treating Vincent, blowing him off and leaving his text messages on read. 

   He wanted to make it better. He couldn't afford to be so selfish anymore. Not when he saw how much it could hurt Vincent. How much it would hurt Vincent. The two could be friends, why wouldn't they? In the meantime, Ethan just had to find a way to suppress the weird things he was feeling. He wasn't about to sabotage this because of some unstable teenage hormones.

   Having parked in Vincent's driveway, Ethan turned to him. "You wanna come over for dinner tomorrow?"

   The boy scoffed. "Seriously, Ethan? You don't have to do this just because you feel guilty," he snapped.

   Ethan raised his eyebrow. "It's not like that, Vince. It's been forever since we hung out together! Don't you think we should?" he whined defensively. 

    "You didn't seem to mind earlier."

   "But I did! I've just been so busy with football lately," he half-lied. "Besides, Mom misses you. She's been bugging me to invite you over like crazy."

   Vincent wouldn't lie, he perked up at that. "Really?"

   Ethan chuckled at the apparent change of demeanor, a sound Vincent secretly rejoiced in. "Really. I'm starting to think she likes you more than she likes me."

   "Fine. I'll be there," he grudgingly accepted, much to Ethan's satisfaction. "But only for Stephanie."

   Ethan raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning from ear to ear. "Whatever you say, Van Gogh."

   With a roll of his eyes, Vincent got out of the car, jogging to his front door to escape the aching cold. When he entered, Roger greeted him at the door. "Sweetheart, why do you have a bruise on your face?"

   "Oh, Ethan hit me with his ball."