Maeve
The library was cool and shrouded in darkness as I helped Aaron onto one of the couches. He groaned as he shifted his weight, the bruises from our battle in the alleyway already evident on his skin.
He accepted my help, allowing me to peer into his mouth to check for broken teeth. His nose was likely broken, but he had set it straight himself, the crunching sound of it still ringing in my ears.
“Well, I don’t think you’re dying,” I said as I turned from him and crossed the room, rummaging in the bar cart for something strong. I pulled out a dusty bottle of scotch, the wax seal unbroken as I grabbed two glasses and walked back over to where he sat.
“I think the walk home was the worst part,” he groaned, peering at me through one eye as I sat the glasses down and used my fingernail to break the wax seal.
