I didn't even fully regain consciousness when I began to sense a bolt of pain soaring across my forehead. Each lobe of my brain seemed to throb along, and I jostled up from the lying position with an involuntary forward thrust. It took me a while to balance my nervous coordination and steady myself. I scanned my vicinity to realize that I was in Xaviers' room. Bruno was snoozing peacefully beside me.

What had happened last night?

I rested my forehead on my palms as I tried to recollect last night's incidents. The forest. Uncle Nick. The man in the hoodie. The gunshots. The blow against the tree.

While the remembrances flashed across my mind, my eyes fell on my right palm. I jerked from my position in terror. There was blood. Did I get injured?

I hastily got up from the bed and hurried to check myself in the washroom mirror. Apart from a purplish-blue bruise on the right side of my forehead, there was no trace of any other possible wound.

Where did the blood come from-?

His arm. Someone had carried me till here.

My brain suddenly clicked and I recalled the whole thing. I had clutched his arm with my right hand last night and I did feel a warm liquid oozing out.

Who was he again?

I closed my eyes and strained my brain to remember. The tattoo.

"Xaviers," I mumbled, opening my eyes abruptly.

Xaviers brought me back home, on his shoulders. That means he was also in the forest. How did he get there? Was he following me?

I hassled out of the room to get the answers to my questions. Xaviers was brewing coffee next to the table near his small gym corner. He looked up at my arrival and examined my forehead as I got there.

"Was it you who saved me last night-?" the words took some time to come out.

"Save you? From what?" he merely questioned back with a puzzled face that I doubt was intentionally crafted.

Or didn't he actually remember?

"Where were you last night?" I tried to get things out from him in a different way.

"In my room, sleeping," he shrugged as he took a sip from the coffee.

"Jonas' room I mean, since a certain someone has taken control over my room now"

It couldn't be. It had to be him.

I stared at him, not knowing how to make him say it.

"What? Did you see a nightmare or something?"

I didn't respond.

"Or was it your fantasy where I came to save you like a hero?" he said with an annoying chuckle.

He took another sip from his coffee before continuing, "How did you injure your head that badly from a walk though?"

His eyes were on my forehead.

EXACTLY. The wound ascertains that it wasn't a nightmare or any dream.

I hated the fact that I had no way to prove that it was him though. Or maybe I did-

His arm, it must be injured too. I surreptitiously glanced at his left arm which was obscured from view due to his tilted position. He understood it instantaneously and moved his arm away from my vision.

But too late. I had already seen it. His left arm was wrapped imprudently in gauze from which blood was still leaking out.

So Mr. Angry Young Man was lying.

"What about the wound in your arm?" I inquired, pointing towards his left arm which he was trying to conceal without success. I had an air of victory in my voice.

"Oh, this-" he began searching for an excuse now that he was caught red-handedly.

Not finding any, he took a large sip from his coffee but put the cup down instantly with a loud thud. Clearly he had taken too much of the hot coffee and had scorched his tongue.

I chuckled under my breath. I didn't know why, but I was somewhat happy to confirm that it was him.

Feeling defeated, he took out a ball of cotton wool from the first aid box on the table and soaked it in some antiseptic. He wouldn't still tell me that it was him. Saves me and doesn't even agree to it... How stubborn.

He tugged off the gauze to reveal the brutal bullet bruise. It was obvious that he hadn't aided the wound well, blood was still dripping out from there. He began dabbing the gash with the cotton wool as if he was cleaning coffee stains from his t-shirt. What the-

"Are you mad-!" I exclaimed as I dashed off to seize the cool wool from his hands. "That's a bullet wound, not a coffee stain."

"Doesn't matter."

He tried to resume his work after snatching back the cotton wool from my hands, but I wouldn't let him.

"Let me do it," I insisted.

I just realized that I was responsible for the wound. He took in the bullet that was meant for me.

It was clear now that it was he who had grasped me from the back to save me from the bullet, and I ended up hitting my head hard against a tree during the process. At least it was not the bullet; the wound seemed miserable. It must be really painful, I assumed, although Xaviers showed no sign of it.

Since Xaviers didn't protest, I cleaned the wound carefully and took out a new packet of gauze to do the dressing. I had never treated a bullet wound before, but I tried my best. Although he remained quiet the entire time, I could tell from his facial expression that he was clenching his teeth to silently fight off the pain.

"Did you get out the bullet by yourself?" I asked anxiously.

"I'm a detective Miss Valdez, used to this kind of stuff."

He made a slight "Ouch" sound when I had mistakenly nudged the wound with the blunt end of the scissors.

"I'm so sorry," I blurted immediately.

"Bullets don't scare me anymore," he whispered, "the wounds in my heart are deeper."

He produced a smile that somehow depicted the pain behind that firm face.

For some unknown reason, those words got me. Our faces were so close now that I could see the tears spread over his green iris as if he had trained them not to come out of the eyes. Why doesn't he reveal his pain in front of anyone?

I wanted to know what caused those wounds, but I knew I was no one to ask that.

I didn't know what to say, so I focused back on finishing the dressing. I wanted to say a lot of things, ask a lot of questions, but how many of them would he answer? Probably none. He was in no way obliged to do so either.

"Thank you," he breathed after I had finished the dressing.

"Shouldn't I be the one saying that?" I asked.

A little smile curved across his flawless face. That was the kindest word I had ever heard from him. He looked so better when he smiled.

"You need it too," he advised, passing me the first-aid box.

I smiled back and was preparing to leave when he spoke again.

"Ever since my mom was gone, no one ever aided my wounds,"-he paused- "so I didn't either."

I knew how it felt, at least a little maybe. At least I had some people around me, but he had no one.

"June?" I asked, not knowing what else to say.

"Brothers don't dress each other's wounds, because their job is to make sure that you don't end up needing band-aids in the first place," he smiled, looking down.

"I don't remember requiring one ever since Jonas came," he continued.

"Until last night of course," I replied with a kind of guilt.

"And curiously, he wasn't here," Xaviers replied in a light mood, giving absolutely no attention to the guilt on my face.

That gave me a kind of relief. I realized it was the first time I was having a 'conversation' with Xaviers. It somehow felt good, so I searched for another topic to continue it.

"Why do you have a tattoo of the letter K?" I asked, pointing towards the tattoo on his left wrist.

"I thought you like the name Xaviers more, since everyone calls you that," I added.

The colors faded away from his face once again. Did I ask something I shouldn't have?

"It's okay if you don't want to say-"

"My parents used to call me Kelvin," he murmured. "After they passed away, no one calls me that anymore."

I don't know what I analyzed in my mind, but I ended up saying, "I'll call you Kelvin."

He opened his mouth to say something, but I didn't give him the chance to interpolate.

"And you don't get to object to that."

To my surprise, he closed his mouth and didn't protest. That was unexpected.

"Take this, and I'll send the breakfast to your room," he said after a while, handing me the first aid box again.

"I almost forgot that it's mine," he added with a chuckle.

I giggled back. Before leaving, something struck my mind.

"You didn't yet tell me about last night."

He took a while to consider what to say.

"Do you believe that I was pretending to have no clue about last night?"

I nodded. There was no doubt in it.

"Then it must mean that I do not wish to talk about it," he concluded.

So he knew what happened last night.

"I deserve to know, you know."

"I'll tell you when the right time comes, don't worry."

He turned away with that and walked into June's room.

I was well aware that asking him again and again won't work. I had to wait till he decided to reveal it to me by himself.

Please don't forget to vote, comment, and share if you enjoyed reading this chapter!

- Love,
Your dear author <3