♡ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴀʏ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ♡

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I had to get a cup of coffee just so that I wouldn't fall asleep on my homework that night, and even then I was only able to do about half of it before I had to throw in the towel.

I went to bed asking myself how I was going to do this for a week or more. And again, I was scared.

~

I had to wake up an hour earlier than usual to finish the rest of my homework. I was the only one awake. Half an hour in, at about 5:30, I went to get some coffee when I saw Johnny passed out on the couch, clutching a blanket and using his crumpled-up T-shirt as a pillow. He had bruises all over him that weren't there when I last saw him. I rushed over to him, my heart hurting. The Socs got to him again, I thought, I knew I should've gone out to find him.

I kneeled beside him. Now that I was up close, I could see small paper-cut-like slits on his hands and face. A piece of his long hair had fallen into his eyes, which I gently pushed away and behind his ear.

I looked at him. Even with his wounds, he looked so peaceful asleep. I found myself admiring the way his hair fell around his face, the way his lips, which were dry and cracked, ever so gently let out the occasional soft breath.

I gently stroked his forehead with my thumb, examining his wounds when suddenly, his eyes fluttered open. They looked scared, but when they met mine, their expression turned to comfort and happiness.

I smiled and spoke softly. "Good morning," was all I could think to say because of the butterflies in my stomach.

"Hey, Cary," he said quietly, smiling back at me. Our eyes locked for a second and we stayed there, gazing at each other before I looked away. Now was not the time, he was not the person. He's your friend, Cary, I told myself, he'll never be into you. Why was I even having to tell myself that?

"You're hurt," I said plainly, pretending to scan over his wounds again to avoid the moment we just had, "I thought I told you to stop sleeping in the lot. I just knew those Socs were gonna get you again."

"It was my dad, Cary." He said as he shook his head, his eyes turning sad again as he sat up. "I hoped maybe my folks would be asleep by the time I got there. They were, but when I walked in, I woke him up and he started hittin' me." He paused. "He was drunk, of course."

The blanket had fallen off of him when he sat up, exposing his bare torso and muscles. I had always noticed them when he was shirtless, but now they were making my heart flutter. Goodness, what was happening to me?

Other than his muscles, there were more bruises on him. "Do you mind if I..." I said, looking up at him, and he nodded.

I touched them, gently of course, and one particularly large bruise on his side made me scared it was a broken rib. Thankfully, though, it didn't seem to hurt him when I touched it—as much as a broken rib would, anyways.

"Are your legs okay?" I asked.

He shrugged and rolled up the cuffs of his jeans. They must have protected him from whatever his dad used, because even though there was bruising, it was minor.

"What did he hit you with?" I asked as I sat down next to him.

"Belt," he said simply, "and threw a bottle at my head but it hit the wall and shattered everywhere." That would certainly explain the small cuts all over him.

I looked him over again. He seemed to be a bit uncomfortable sitting shirtless next to me, even though he's done it a million times before. Was I making him uncomfortable?

"Clean yourself up," I ordered as I stood up from the couch, "then I'll patch you up."

He nodded and went to the bathroom, and soon I heard the shower turn on.