Robin’s knuckles were still red when Angel dragged him through the door. “Sit,” she said sharply, already reaching for the bathroom light. He didn’t argue this time. That’s how you knew it was bad. Robin hopped up onto the edge of the sink, shoulders tense, jaw tight, breathing still uneven from the fight. There was a split in his lip, a bruise already forming along his cheekbone. Angel didn’t look at him. That was worse than yelling. She moved around him in silence—grabbing a cloth, running the tap, squeezing it out harder than she needed to. The room filled with that quiet, heavy tension that made everything feel too loud and too still at the same time. Robin watched her. “Angel—” Nothing. She stepped between his knees, tilting his chin slightly to clean the blood from his lip. Her touch wasn’t rough… but it wasn’t soft either. Just careful. Controlled. And completely silent. “Say something,” he muttered. Still nothing. Her eyes stayed focused on the cut, like if she looked anywhere else she’d lose it. Robin swallowed, voice dropping quieter. “I didn’t start it.” No reaction. “He was talking about—” “I don’t care,” she cut in, finally speaking—but not looking at him. “You still finished it.” That stung more than the hit he’d taken. Silence again. The kind that pressed on your chest. Robin shifted on the sink, frustrated now. “You’re just gonna ignore me then?” She stepped back to grab something else. Didn’t answer. That’s when it hit him—she wasn’t just mad. She was scared. And that made something twist in his chest. “Angel…” His voice softened this time. “I’m sorry.” Nothing. He let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “Alright—look, I shouldn’t have—” He stopped, exhaling hard. “I shouldn’t have hit him like that.” She kept her back to him. “I just—he was talking about my friend and I—” He cut himself off again, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not worth it. I know that.” Still nothing. Now he was getting