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Summary
“Gotta stop getting hit in the face, Mitchy,” Auston says as he takes out some supplies, ripping open a cleansing wipe. “Turn around.”
“Not like I plan it,” Mitch says, finger pressing against the scar on the other side of his face before he turns to look at Auston. “Bubble kind of worked out though, didn’t it?”
Auston snorts, gently wiping the blood off Mitch’s face, jaw clenching when Mitch hisses. “Sorry,” he says, dabbing the cut as gently as possible. “Gotta get it clean.”
“This sucks,” Mitch says, looking up at Auston and turning his head against the hand Auston’s got against Mitch’s not currently bleeding cheek. His mouth brushes against Auston’s palm and Auston smiles.