In the heart of Harvard, Alessia Gilmore is ready to embrace her second year and the independence it brings. After a summer spent reconnecting with friends and discovering herself, she's determined to step out of her twin sister Rory's shadow and ca...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The hallways were quiet as Avery made his way to Quinn's dorm, a sense of unease lingering from the game the day before. Quinn's intensity on the ice had been dialed up, even for him, and Avery couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He finally reached Quinn's door, knocking lightly before opening it a crack.
Quinn looked up, caught off guard, from where he sat on the edge of his bed. His right hand was wrapped in a towel, a fresh streak of red blooming through the fabric.
"Didn't know we were making a habit of picking fights off the ice," Avery said, half-joking as he closed the door behind him.
Quinn frowned, withdrawing his hand a little. "I'm fine, Avery. It's nothing."
Avery raised an eyebrow, crossing the room and taking the towel from him despite Quinn's protests. "Right. 'Nothing' that's leaving a bloodstain the size of my hand."
He sat on the edge of the bed beside Quinn, focusing on the knuckles that were red and raw, some cuts deeper than others. Quietly, Avery took the small first-aid kit he always kept with him and set it down beside them, pulling out disinfectant and a clean cloth.
"Seriously, you don't have to—" Quinn started, shifting slightly as if he'd rather just brush it off.
"Too late. I'm here now," Avery replied, keeping his tone light but firm. "Besides, I know you're too stubborn to go to the nurse about this."
He carefully dabbed the cloth with disinfectant, eyes flicking up to gauge Quinn's reaction. Quinn tensed at the initial sting but let Avery continue, his jaw clenched as he looked away, as if refusing to admit he needed the help. Avery worked with a quiet focus, keeping his touch gentle, his voice steady.
"So... this happen before or after the game?" Avery asked, glancing up briefly.
Quinn's eyes hardened, a shadow passing over his face. "After," he said shortly, as if that would end the conversation.
Avery held back a sigh, pressing the cloth gently to one of the deeper cuts. "You know you can talk to me, right?"
Quinn's jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on a spot on the floor. "I don't need to talk. Just got a little too worked up, that's all."
Avery nodded, but he didn't let up on his care, methodically cleaning each cut in silence. They both sat there, the unspoken tension hanging in the air, but Avery didn't push any further. He knew Quinn well enough to recognize when it was best to leave the silence alone, to let the quiet do the talking.
Avery worked in silence, his focus never wavering from Quinn's hand. The sting of the disinfectant seemed to be the only break in the tension between them, but he could tell that Quinn's guard was still firmly up. As he wrapped a clean bandage around Quinn's knuckles, he finally spoke up, but with a gentler approach.
"Listen," Avery said, not looking up, "I know we all have our own ways of dealing with... stuff. But you've been off since the game. Not just 'a little worked up.'"
Quinn's gaze drifted back toward him, a flicker of something raw beneath his steely exterior. "You don't get it, Avery. It's not something that just... goes away."
Avery nodded, his hand lingering on Quinn's wrist, his touch steady. "Maybe not. But it doesn't mean you have to handle it on your own."
For a moment, it seemed like Quinn might brush him off again, but he didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he sighed, his shoulders sinking just a fraction. "I just... lost it. Couldn't keep it together." His voice was barely above a whisper, almost as if he were admitting it more to himself than to Avery.
Avery tightened the bandage carefully, meeting Quinn's eyes. "Everyone has moments like that. No shame in it."
Quinn shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not for me, Avery. I'm supposed to be the one people rely on. The one who never cracks." He glanced away, his jaw clenched. "I can't be that guy if I keep... losing control."
Avery felt a pang in his chest, recognizing the weight Quinn was carrying, the pressure he'd put on himself to always stay unbreakable. "Maybe you're still that guy, even if you lose it once in a while. Doesn't make you any weaker. Just means you're human."
Quinn huffed softly, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh, his hand relaxing in Avery's grip. "Guess I forgot that part."
Avery squeezed his hand gently, the warmth between them grounding. "Well, if you ever need a reminder, you know where to find me."
They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, and Avery felt Quinn's walls come down just a bit more, the tension that had been radiating from him softening.
Quinn looked up, the guarded edge in his eyes melting into something more vulnerable. "Thanks, Avery. Really."
Avery managed a small smile. "Anytime."
When he finally let go of Quinn's hand, he felt a strange warmth settle between them. It was subtle, unspoken, but something in the air felt different—like maybe this conversation, small as it was, had chipped away at the walls Quinn had built up.
————————————— AN: What do you guys think of Avery?
