"Oh."

Out of all the reactions he could have given her, perhaps he could have tried to look a little less underwhelmed.

Then again, he wasn’t much better himself.

To be fair, he was surprised too. Just far too exhausted to show it properly.

"Good evening," Blake said quietly. "I’m here to recover from my injuries and the fever. Sorry for intruding."

Getting into an argument with a stepmother he barely knew was hardly the ideal beginning to his recovery, was it?

"Why is it that you get hurt this often?" the woman asked. "Have you become a troublemaker?"

Blake raised an eyebrow before letting out a faint sigh.

"You could say that."

"Who hit you?"

Now that was a far more interesting question.

"Nothing serious," he replied. "A few guys jumped me last night."

A slight frown crossed her face, though her composed demeanor never truly faltered.

"I told you to stay inside during the evenings," she said. "You keep wandering around and getting yourself into trouble."

The response was so oddly specific that Blake genuinely didn’t know what to say to it.

"I’m eighteen," he answered. "Whether I go out or not is my decision to deal with. Though, if I may ask... where’s the bathroom? I’ve been trying to find it."

The woman stared at him silently for a few moments.

It almost looked as if she were about to say something else, but whatever thought crossed her mind disappeared just as quickly.

"The bathroom is to the left of your room," she finally said. "Not the right. Go back and you’ll find it."

"Alright. Thank you."

Blake gave her a small nod, wishing her a good evening before walking past her.

As he did, she looked at him directly.

Her eyes were the same as always, calm, unreadable, restrained.

Yet there was the slightest crease between her brows, a subtle frown that refused to disappear.

Somehow, she looked exactly like she had during the previous times Blake had ignored her words or pushed against them without hesitation.

Like she expected him to do it, like she already knew he would.

Her face looked displeased.

Blake decided not to think too deeply about it.

There were enough things clogging his mind already.

So he simply kept walking down the hallway, the soft sound of his footsteps echoing against the polished floor until he finally found the bathroom far more quickly than before.

Apparently, turning left really had solved the mystery.

The light flickered on with a muted click. There were cold white tiles, a spotless sink.

The faint scent of soap lingering in the air. Blake shut the door behind him and exhaled quietly.

For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at nothing.

Then he finally relieved himself, fatigue weighing on him so heavily that even something as simple as standing upright felt irritating.

His body still ached everywhere.

His ribs burned whenever he breathed too deeply, and his head felt unpleasantly warm.

After washing his hands, he slowly lifted his gaze toward the mirror.

God, he looked terrible.

His hair was messy from lying down all day, dark strands sticking out in uneven directions.

The exhaustion beneath his eyes had deepened into bruised shadows, and his skin looked pale enough to make the discoloration on his cheek stand out even more.

Blake reached up carefully and peeled the medical patch off his cheek.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

The adhesive tugged painfully against his skin, making him wince under his breath.

"Ah... damn."

It hurt far worse than he expected.

But well, nothing new there.

Once the patch finally came off, Blake stared at the reflection again. The bruise had darkened so much it almost looked unreal.

Purple, blue and black around the edges.

Honestly, it looked about a hundred times worse than before.

Blake poked it gently with two fingers.

Immediately, sharp pain shot through his face.

"...Howdy," he muttered weakly.

Yeah. That definitely hurt.

As if the universe found his suffering amusing, the buzzing sound of his phone suddenly echoed from his pocket.

Blake blinked and pulled it out.

Myles.

And, of course, it was a video call.

Blake scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

He really couldn’t keep ignoring him forever.

Even so, there was absolutely no way he was accepting a video call looking like this.

Not now when he still felt so horribly unsettled.

Not when his thoughts were still a tangled mess of fear, guilt, confusion, and exhaustion that he hadn’t even begun sorting through properly.

Freddie’s face kept appearing in his mind no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

Someone so connected to Myles was part of such an awful moment with the blood and the gun.

And his own shaking hands.

Blake swallowed hard and quickly rejected the video call before pressing the voice call button instead.

The ringing lasted only a few seconds before Myles picked up.

"Hey," Blake greeted quietly. "How’ve you been surviving without me?"

Silence lingered briefly on the other end.

Then Myles answered, calm as always.

"Yeah. The day went alright."

Blake could practically picture his expression already.

Relaxed posture, half-lidded eyes. That quiet voice that never seemed hurried.

Then Myles asked, "Why didn’t you accept the video call?"

Blake leaned against the sink.

"Just got out of the shower," he lied smoothly. "Can’t really do video right now."

"Mm."

"And... sorry for telling you last minute that I wouldn’t be at school today."

"It doesn’t matter," Myles interrupted immediately.

Blake paused, there was no annoyance in his voice, or irritation, just nothing.

Myles simply continued, "Are you alright?"

Blake let out a soft sigh before slowly crouching down against the bathroom cabinet, phone pressed against his ear.

Of course.

Out of everyone, Myles was always the one who could hear straight through him.

Even when Blake laughed things off, even when he changed the topic.

Even when he pretended.

"I’m feeling pretty alright," Blake answered quietly. "I’m happy to hear your voice, so what could really go wrong?"

The words sounded light, playful, even.

But halfway through saying them, something in his chest tightened painfully.

His vision blurred just slightly.

Blake reached up and roughly ruffled his own hair, trying to force himself together before his emotions slipped somewhere embarrassing.

On the other side of the line, Myles stayed silent for a moment.

Then he asked softly, "Has your family been giving you a hard time?"

Blake stared blankly at the floor.

Then, despite himself, he let out a quiet chuckle.

Why was Myles the one worrying?

Seriously.

Why?

"No," Blake answered. "So far I’ve only seen my stepmother. But she hasn’t really been bothering me that much."

He laughed lightly again, trying to brighten the atmosphere.

"Not like the last time in the hospital room, at least. Remember what a scene she caused? Well, maybe I’m blowing this out of proportion but, I can’t deny I was quite uncomfortable, haha..."

The memory alone was enough to make him cringe internally.

Myles hummed in response.

Then he asked, "Why do you sound sad?"

Blake’s smile froze instantly.

Right.

He was such an idiot.

He already knew this guy could see straight through him.

No matter how carefully he spoke.

No matter how casually he acted.

Myles always noticed.

And the moment that realization hit him, Blake felt his expression crumble.

Everything came rushing back all at once.

Freddie dying right in front of him.

The terror from those fights.

The sound of fists and metal and shouting.

The cold weight of a gun in his own hand.

The horrifying moment he pointed it at himself without even understanding why.

His body aching from head to toe.

The fever making everything feel heavier.

And then there was Myles himself.

The fragments Blake had learned about his past.

The things that didn’t make sense.

The quiet sadness hidden beneath his calmness.

The loneliness Blake could somehow feel even without it being spoken aloud.

What part of any of this was alright?

What exactly was he supposed to feel okay about?

Blake’s throat tightened.

A quiet sniffle escaped him before he could stop it.

The silence on the line shifted immediately.

"Why are you crying?" Myles asked softly.

Blake opened his mouth, then closed it again.

He genuinely didn’t know what to say.

How was he even supposed to explain this mess?

"I..." Blake murmured weakly. "Um, I just..."

"I understand."

That was all he said, with no pressure or questions.

No forcing Blake to explain feelings he could barely understand himself.

Just those two simple words.

I understand.

How could he think this guy was such a horrible person at the start? Maybe he wasn’t the best role model, definitely also had his own issues... but now, he couldn’t help but think...

’I can see you, too, Myles.’

And for the first time since returning home, for the first time since the fight, since the blood, since the fear, since everything, Blake smiled.

Brightly.