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“Hey!”
I walked faster, not wanting involvement with whatever was going on behind me.
“Hey! Dude, stop!”
Glancing over my shoulder, I spotted a guy in a black hoodie and jeans jogging toward me. I yelped and started running, too, trying to lose him, but that was near impossible on the empty sidewalk. In my head, I cursed how late my shift had ended, resulting in me out here, alone. Over the sound of my feet hitting the pavement and my own breathing, I heard “wallet” and “back here!” but I just kept going until I arrived at my apartment building.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” I muttered as I tried to jam the key into the lock. The stupid thing never wanted to do what a key and lock were supposed to—work—and the guy arrived behind me, panting. I turned to face him, at least not wanting to be literally stabbed in the back.
“I just need,” the guy began around labored breathing, reaching his hand into his pocket, but I made a split-second judgment. I swung.
“Ow! Dude!” he exclaimed, clutching his nose and bending double as I tried with the key again, turning my body so my eyes were on him as I worked—not that I could see much more than his vague outline in the dark of my building’s weak lightbulb. “What the hell was that for? I’m trying to return your wallet!”
“No!” I shouted, finally feeling the key catch. “You can’t have—!”
I paused, then, processing his words. “Wait, return it?” I felt my back pockets with my free hand and, yep, my wallet was missing.
The guy glared—or maybe he was squinting in pain—as he slowly reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out my wallet: blue leather with a sun embroidered into the front. I took it from him and opened it to check the pockets, and the guy snorted and then winced.
“I didn’t take anything,” he said. “You dropped it, I tried to tell you, you took off running. Then you punched me for some reason, and here we are.”
“Heh. Sorry about that,” I sheepishly replied, pushing the wallet back into my pocket. “That’s my bad. And, uh, thanks for putting so much effort into returning my wallet.”
He nodded, pulling his hand away from his nose and revealing blood dripping down his face. He wiped at it, smearing the red further, as he replied, “No problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a broken nose to get checked out.”
He turned and began to step away, but another quick decision on my part had me shouting, “Wait!” The man paused, although didn’t turn back, and I scrambled to say, “Look, I feel really bad, and I’m a doctor, so can I just look at your nose real quick? I hate to make you pay for an urgent care visit or something if I can prevent it.”
The man gave me an unimpressed look over his shoulder, holding his nose once more. “I think the best way to prevent it would have been to not punch me.”
I winced. “Yeah, that’s fair, I deserve that. Still,” I steeled myself, “can I take a look?”
“You’re not going to hit me again, are you?” he asked, but he was walking back toward me, so I figured it was a joke. Probably.
“No, no more punching!” I promised, holding my hands in front of me.
I thought he might be smirking, but it was hard to tell around his hand and blood. He stepped up onto the landing while I moved my backpack off of one shoulder and reached inside for a stack of napkins I’d stored at lunch. They were a little greasy, but I figured they were better than nothing.
After pouring a little water onto the napkins, I prompted him to pull his hand away, and I started wiping up the blood. Some of it had already started to dry, and there was still a slight trickle, but cleaning made it easier to see his face. The delicateness and yet strength of his features surprised me, like a marble statue: aristocratic bone structure, pretty obsidian eyes, softly curling ebony hair. He’d managed to smear blood even up to his left cheekbone, and I folded the wet napkins over to get it with a clean side.
“Why do these smell like chicken nuggets?” Pretty Eyes asked, gesturing vaguely at the napkins.
“Probably because that’s what they came with today,” I replied, shoving them into the netted side pocket of my backpack before I cradled his jaw in my hands and examined the damage.
Without all of the blood, it was easier to observe what was going on with the nasal bone and cartilage, swollen and bruised. He winced as I touched it, but it wasn’t off center, so that was a good sign—probably just a nasal contusion. His pupils seemed normal, too, so likely no concussion. But, wow, his eyes up close were even prettier: deep and soulful. I tried not to look at them too directly, but I couldn’t help the quick glances I stole as I worked.
I must have been quiet for too long as I looked and felt the bone because he asked, “So, what’s the verdict, doc?”
I grinned at his joke. “Okay, so the good news is it isn’t broken, but it’s definitely experienced some, uh, trauma,” I noted. “I’m so, so sorry about that, but I could treat it for you?”
“Uhhh, here?” Pretty Eyes asked, glancing around as I kept hold of his face, gently feeling his maxilla frontal process and zygomatic process on each side. “On this stoop?”
“Um, I was thinking up in my apartment, actually? Although now that I say it aloud, that’s probably weird.” I pulled my hands away from his face, satisfied with my assessment, and looked him over. Pretty Eyes was unfairly beautiful, even with blood all over him and a busted nose, and he was being a remarkably good sport about all of this.
“Why would inviting a stranger you just punched in the face up to your apartment be weird?” he joked with a smile. I probably shouldn’t have found the blood on his teeth attractive, and yet I did. I shook my head slightly to clear it, reflecting that there must be something wrong with me.
I offered my hand to him and said, “Hi, I’m Will Solace.”
Pretty Eyes raised his eyebrows at me but shook my hand. “Nico di Angelo.”
“Great, now we’re not strangers! Are you okay with coming upstairs so I can treat your nose and give you some stuff for it? I figure it’s the least I can do after,” I gestured at his face, “that.”
Nico cracked a small smile and replied, “Probably poor judgment on my part, but yeah, sure.”
I smiled back and finally opened the door, holding it open for him and then leading the way up the stairs to the third floor. My own door was much easier to open, and I gestured for him to go ahead inside.
I caught Nico peeking around as I dropped my bag by the door and ducked into the kitchen to wash my hands and grab an ice pack, a glass of water, and paper towel. When I reemerged, he was looking at my wall of photos, kept up by Blu-Tack. After handing Nico the items, I left him to it while I gathered up the materials he would need for at-home treatment and put them into a plastic bag.
“Okie dokie,” I began as I walked back to him, calling his attention toward me, “we’ve got acetaminophen and ibuprofen for pain relief, lidocaine cream for numbing, arnica cream for bruising, and cotton for any bleeding. Go ahead and take the acetaminophen, but avoid ibuprofen for 48 hours because it might increase the bleeding. Ice for about 15 minutes every couple of hours, too, to help with both pain and swelling.” I handed him an acetaminophen pill first, which he took with the water, and then offered the bag.
“Hmm, I don’t know if I trust a doctor who uses ‘okie dokie’ unironically,” he teased but took the bag from me, exchanging it with the water glass.
I sputtered before I finally managed, “Hey! Look, I’m a pediatrician! I gotta, you know, be casual and bubbly or else all of my patients would just cry.”
Nico hummed, still holding the ice to his nose. “I have to say, that isn’t my experience.”
“Oh, yeah? What do you do?” I asked, sliding my hands into my back pockets now that they were empty.
“I’m a middle school teacher. Math. I don’t think a single one of my students would describe me as ‘bubbly’.”
“But do they cry?” I asked and grinned as he grimaced. “See? Maybe if you were bubbly, they wouldn’t cry.”
“Mm,” he considered, “I think it’s the algebraic equations that are making them cry, not my personality.”
“I don’t know, I think you should use ‘okie dokie’ and see if it helps!” I joked.
He shot me a deadpan and unimpressed expression. “I’d rather be punched in the face again.”
I laughed loudly, surprised, but caught the twitch of his lips before my eyes squeezed shut with the force of it. “Wow, I’m really glad you have a sense of humor about this.”
Nico shrugged, taking the ice away and looking around for a place to set it down. I held my hand out and he passed it over as he said, “Honestly, I’m mostly just embarrassed you managed to catch me off guard like that. My friends Reyna and Jason are going to laugh at me for like five minutes straight.”
I snickered as I walked back to the kitchen and dropped the ice pack and water glass into the sink. “If it makes you feel better, I just finished a self-defense course.”
“It does not,” Nico replied as he followed me in, “because I’ve been taking kick-boxing for years, but thank you for trying.”
“Oof, yeah, okay, I see why Reyna and Jason are going to laugh at you,” I grinned, leaning against the counter and crossing my arms.
Nico glared at my words, and the skin of his nose blooming in angry reds and purples made the sight pretty intimidating, but there was no real heat in his eyes.
His, again, very pretty eyes. I got lost in them for a moment, my grin melting into something softer as we watched each other across my kitchen, and I wondered if it would be weird to ask him on a date. Eventually, though, his eyes flicked away as he cleared his throat.
“I should probably get going,” Nico hedged. “You know, school in the morning and all that.”
“Oh! Right!” I replied, thrown back into the present. “You’ll be okay to get home?”
“Yeah, I will be,” he nodded and smirked. “As long as no one else punches me for returning their wallet, that is.”
I felt my expression turn sheepish again. “Again, I’m so sorry about that.” I took a breath and the plunge: “And, um, I’d like to check in on you in a couple of days, if that’s okay?”
Nico blinked, clearly surprised, before nodding slowly. “Yeah, I’d . . . I’d be okay with that. I can give you my number?”
I nodded perhaps a touch too enthusiastically as I pulled my phone out of my pocket, unlocked it, and opened it to text messages. I handed it to him to add his number, which he did with a text of his name before handing it back.
I walked him to the door and said, “Well, one more time, thank you for giving my wallet back. And I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine, Solace, you can stop apologizing,” Nico replied as he stepped into the hall. He turned and walked backward a couple of paces as he added, “Maybe just make it up to me with dinner?”
Elation filled my chest as I grinned. “You’ve got it! Anywhere you want.”
Nico smirked. “Anywhere I want? How do you know I’m not an expensive date?”
I shrugged, forcing nonchalance as I responded, “I get the feeling you’re worth it.”
He grinned one more time before turning to go down the stairs. When he was out of sight, I clicked the door shut, feeling absurdly victorious.