Then He Smiled [BoyxBoy]

Cuts And Scratches

Arnold felt blood trickle down his skin and had no idea where it was coming from.

His glasses were broken. Lying on the ground somewhere in the courtyard where he was cornered.

He raised two shaky fingers to his face, tracing them over the trail of warm blood, trying to pinpoint the area of injury.

He stopped at his temple, wincing in pain.

"I think one of them was wearing a ring."

Zach cursed, picking up the pace as he tried to open the stupid, stubborn first aid kit.

"I'm okay," Arnold said. "You interrupted before things got too far."

"Sheer luck," Zach hissed. Then he made a little triumphant sound when he finally managed to rip open the lid of the kit.

His hand instantly reached for the bottle of alcohol and he used it to dab a bit of the liquid onto a cotton pad.

He winced, as if he was the one caught in a fight and not Arnold. "This is going to sting."

"Do you have to do it?"

"Your wound could get infected if I don't."

"I know, but..."

Zach looked away as he set the bottle aside. "You can hold my hand. If you want."

Arnold registered the flutter in his chest and hated himself more than he already did.

He hated himself even more when he found his hand stretching our for Zach's empty one.

Zach's fingers were warm, and he gave Arnold's a little squeeze.

"I'm just going to..."

Arnold held his breath and nodded.

Zach pressed the cotton pad onto Arnold's skin, eliciting a hiss.

Arnold wanted to pull away, but Zach's hand let go from his own, using it to hold his face in place.

His thumb brushed away the trail of blood, which was already drying.

Zach cleaned the wound and a few other cuts and scratches, before covering them up if needed.

Zach's eyes were staring.

Arnold didn't blame him.

He'd taken his shirt off as soon as he'd stepped into his dorm room. Something, he suspected it was one of his ribs, was bruised. His skin looked pale, but that only made the bruises on his stomach stand out more and Zach couldn't bare it anymore, he hated it. He hated how it looked, how the blues on his skin blended perfectly with the purples. How it almost looked like someone purposely painted on his skin, mixing the colors together expertly.

He tore himself away from Arnold's body, his face twisted in pent up rage as he reached for a bucket of ice.

He wrapped a few ice cubes in Arnold's discarded shirt, and pressed the bundle against his bruises.

"Hold it there," he said.

"Zach-" Arnold's heart was pounding.

"For as long as you can. At least until you don't feel as much pain every time you breathe. I'm guessing they bruised one of your ribs. I know you hate visiting the infirmary, but they went too far this time. Icing it should numb the pain for the time being."