Winter Brought Me Warmth

‎ANNA POV:

"He circled everywhere... I can't deal with this," Mason groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he stared at the red-inked disaster that was his design sheet.‎"Serves you right," Mel sang, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. The glare Mason shot her could've burned paper.

‎"Let me see." Jake took the draft from Mason's hands and studied it, lips pressed thin.

‎Mel peered over his shoulder and burst out laughing. "How did you even make it to fourth semester?"

‎That did it.

‎Mason stiffened, offended. His eyes darted around the room until they landed on Nick's draft lying abandoned on the desk. He snatched it and shoved it in front of Mel.

‎"See? He's not better than me."

‎"I know," she said sweetly. "You both are equally hopeless."

‎Mason gasped dramatically. "Yeah? At least we draw. Not just blabber theories like in Mass Communication."

‎"You—" Mel started, ready to fire back.

‎The door creaked open with a faint jingle.

‎My eyes shifted toward it.

‎Nick stood there.

‎And everything stopped.

‎His cheek was bruised purple. His lip was split. His knuckles were scraped raw, streaked with dried blood. Dust clung to his shirt, and there was something in his eyes that didn't belong there.

‎I froze.

‎No matter what situation he was thrown into, he always kept his cool. So what could have pushed him this far?

‎"What?" Mel whispered, her voice breaking as tears gathered in her eyes. She rushed to him.

‎Jake was already moving, grabbing the first-aid kit.

‎Nick said nothing.

‎Not when the antiseptic stung.

‎Not when the alcohol burned into his cuts.

‎Not even when we asked what happened.

‎He just sat there.

‎Silent.

‎His leg bounced restlessly, his eyes locked on his phone.

‎From the moment he walked in, he hadn't looked away from it.

‎I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled the phone from his hand.

‎The last contact was Ethan.

‎Calls. Messages. One after another.

‎They barely spoke. In fact, they avoided each other.

‎So why was Ethan the only name on Nick's screen?

‎Nick snatched the phone back before I could open the chat.

‎"Did you fight with Ethan?" I demanded.

‎No answer.

‎"Nick..." I tried again.

‎Nothing.

‎Mel slammed her palm against the table. "Cat got your tongue? Talk, you pig!"

‎Still nothing.

‎Then his phone rang.

‎I glanced at the screen.

‎Ethan.

‎Nick answered immediately. "What happened?" His voice was tight. Urgent.

‎A pause.

‎Then his expression darkened. "What did that fucker say?"

‎The raw aggression in his tone made all of us flinch.

‎"What?"

‎His jaw clenched. He slammed his hand on the table, loosening the bandage Jake had just wrapped.

‎"Why did you send me away? If I were there, I would've beaten him to death."

‎That was enough.

‎I grabbed the phone from him. "What the hell is going on?"

‎"Nothing," Ethan said flatly. "Just take Nick home. Wait for me."

‎"Nothing? He looks like he walked out of a street fight. Who were you fighting?"

‎A sharp intake of breath came from the other end.

‎"Anna..." he muttered. "Just... go home."

‎"Fine," I snapped. "Whatever secret mission you think you're on, I don't care. But if you show up looking like this idiot, don't expect me to talk to you."

‎I cut the call and turned to Nick. "What are you guys now? Bleeding over people like this?"

‎He didn't respond.

‎I took the car keys from his hand. "Walk."

‎He followed without a word.

‎The drive home was suffocatingly quiet.

‎Nick sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, lost in thought. The others filled the backseat, unusually silent.

‎No one spoke.

‎The way he had walked in... the blood, the silence, everything kept replaying in my mind.

‎The blood didn't scare me.

‎His silence did.

‎What had they dragged themselves into?

‎When we stepped inside, Dad looked up and immediately rushed toward Nick.

‎"What happened?" he asked, helping him in.

‎I shrugged bitterly. "They're playing superheroes. Apparently, we normal civilians aren't worthy of their secrets."

‎"They?" Dad's eyes narrowed.

‎"Yeah. Your elder son. The great Ethan. He told me to just go home. Didn't even bother explaining what the hell was going on."

‎Dad handed Nick a glass of water, his voice firm. "Who did you fight?"

‎Nick finally spoke. "Wait until Ethan comes, uncle."

‎Dad gave a short nod.

‎We waited.

‎An hour later, the door opened.

‎Ethan walked in.

‎And he looked worse.

‎Bruises bloomed across his face. His knuckles were split open. His shirt was stained red. He looked like he had taken every hit so someone else wouldn't have to.

‎My vision blurred, like my mind refused to accept what I was seeing.

‎Seeing Nick like that was bad enough.

‎Seeing my brother the same way... just an hour later... was unbearable.

‎Dad helped Ethan sit down and began cleaning his wounds. "What happened?" he asked, calm but sharp underneath.

‎Ethan didn't answer.

‎He looked straight at me.

‎"Don't meet Ben anymore."

‎Silence swallowed the room.

******

Thank you for reading Winter Brought Me Warmth.

This is my first story, and sharing it feels both exciting and a little unreal.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Your thoughts and feedback would truly mean a lot to me.

- A'nonymous