𝑩𝑨𝑫  𝑯𝑨𝑩𝑰𝑻 .  ¨. ☄︎ ͎۪۫
𝟎𝟎𝟏.      once upon a december
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𓆩 ♡ 𓆪

𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 made her uneasy.

It was imprinted in her soul, tattooed all over her skin—like a default program that would instantly turn her into a gloomy monster whenever Christmas was around the corner. Perhaps it had something to do with the cold air that froze her toes every time she tried to go on one of her daily walks, or the obnoxious smell of gingerbread cookies that mercilessly clogged her nostrils; maybe it was the fact that schools were closed during that time, so she couldn't bury her treacherous thoughts under academic distractions.

The answer was unclear, and it had been unclear throughout the fifteen years that she had spent waiting for her father to finally come around for Christmas. However, for the sixteenth year, Vienna Hoffman had decided that things had to change: she couldn't keep contaminating her little sister's mood with an ugly frown and a dirty glare whenever the Christmas lights started to plague the streets, especially now that they had a chance to start over. She would be logical, pragmatic, just like she had taught herself to be. And so she would hide the nightmares, and the guilt, and the shivers that climbed up her spine each time she thought about December, the winter, and the way her mother had to leave both her and her sister there, alone in a haunted house while she worked her ass off just to be able to buy them a present.

However, if there was something that Vienna dreaded even more than the Christmas season, it was the damn first aid kit she had brought with her to The Valley.

A diabolical creature, a white demon that somehow reeked of fresh wounds and rubbing alcohol. Having it near her had always been a challenge, but, at that precise moment, on December's nineteenth night, Vi could only tremble in rage as she looked at it.

And that was exactly the reason why she would finally be getting rid of it.

She was going to take it, toss it in the trash, let it rot in the sewers if it was necessary. She would not need it, because she would not let her little sister get hurt anymore. They were now in a different city, miles away from their hometown, and Vienna was tired of watching Charlotte get bullied from the sidelines, always trying to keep her reputation safe and her academic record as clean as a blank slate. Unpolluted grades were important to her—more than important, since she needed them in order to get a scholarship for college—, but Charlie's well-being was simply a priority.

It had always been.

Regardless, after the accident... everything had changed. Turning her back away from the chaos, away from the violence, had stopped being an option for Vienna.

She didn't know how to protect Charlotte—at least not yet—, but the one thing she did know for certain was that she was sick of picking up the pieces in the aftermath instead of preventing the damage. She was determined to find a way: she had to, just like she had always been able to find the right equation to solve a mathematical problem.

In the meantime, she could start by throwing that stupid kit away. The girl felt nauseous just by seeing it there, perched inside the bathroom's cabinet as if it was mocking her, reminding her of the times she had been forced to use it back in Colorado.

"You're going away, asshole," she muttered quietly, taking the kit from the cabinet and clenching her jaw to prevent herself from slamming the bathroom door as she dived into the hallway.

It was already three in the morning, but she was used to staying awake until a couple of hours later, pestered by insomnia. Her mother was already asleep, and Charlie was probably in bed, too, so she had to be as silent as possible.

Well, she was being silent, but it seemed like it hadn't been enough.

"You woke me up."

Vienna closed her eyes as soon as she heard that voice behind her, pursing her lips after taking a deep breath.

"I slammed the door, didn't I?" Vi asked quietly. She then turned to look at Charlotte, who was rubbing her eyes in front of her bedroom door. The twelve-year-old nodded lazily. "Sorry, Char. Just... go back to sleep. I'll make it up to you in the morning."

"With pancakes?"

"With chocolate chip pancakes," she promised, ruffling her sister's hair after hiding the first aid kit behind her back. Charlotte's brown eyes sparked with pure joy, and Vienna felt like her whole body was suddenly calmer; somehow, Charlie's happiness had always managed to make her happier. "But don't get too used to it, brat. You already know I have a hard time making them."

"Not my fault you do everything right except cooking."

"I don't do—"

"You know you do." The girl showed her a tiny smile, one of those subtle gestures that made her look sweeter, but also way too mature for her age. She never smiled with her teeth; she was too shy to do that, too cautious and reserved. "You've always been perfect. It's... your thing."

Perfect.

Vienna savored the word mentally, stifling a sarcastic laugh. She knew damn well that she was far from perfect—she simply tried too hard.

It was her job, after all.

Her childhood memories were plagued by adults telling her that she was destined to succeed: she had grown used to being described as a natural winner, a star. Vi didn't know the reason why, but she was no stranger to the fact that everyone expected her to shine.

Disappointed expressions were not pretty to look at, so she did everything in her power to avoid them, to fulfill the expectations. That was her secret, though: a game she liked to play on her own, and nobody had to know about it.

And still... that word—'perfect'—had never felt right in her mind.

Vi hadn't noticed, but the look on her face had suddenly turned sour. Strained jaw, fists tightly grasping onto the kit that was hidden by her body. She usually avoided people who tried to praise her—it was a sick reminder of how well she had to do just to be herself—, yet she couldn't escape her sister's longing eyes.

However, she was brought back to reality when Charlotte tumbled over her own feet, losing her balance as her injured knee finally gave up.

"Whoa, whoa." Vienna reacted rapidly, letting the first aid kit fall to the floor and instead holding her sister's arms. "I've told you not to rush out of bed or else this happens. You have to be more careful—"

"I-I'm okay."

It did not sound like she was okay.

Her face had fallen. Her lips were tightened into a thin line, and her brown eyes got filled with tears. Vi could feel Charlotte's hands quivering as she clutched into her forearms, and a wicked knot wrapped itself around her vocal cords at the sight.

Charlotte hadn't been the same after the accident.

Eight months had gone by, but she still hadn't recovered from her injury. And, despite being aware of that fact, Vi believed that witnessing her pain was bound to be hard every single time.

Charlie had been diagnosed with anxiety at a young age, and her condition had turned her into the perfect target for children who couldn't comprehend why she sometimes hyperventilated in class. As time passed, and even after changing schools thrice, the bullying only got worse. Help never came, the bomb eventually exploded, and some kids finally decided to go farther than just pushing Charlotte during recess and laughing in her face.

The anterior cruciate ligament on Charlie's left knee ended up broken, almost torn apart after being kicked on the leg by four boys and one girl who took turns with her weak body.

A constructive surgery was not sufficient to heal the ligament, but it was expensive enough to make their mother unable to pay for the precise rehabilitation methods; meanwhile, the attack kept being labeled as a mere accident. Charlie had to relearn how to use her right leg without professional help and, since Verona Hoffman was adamant about letting her older daughter work in order to earn the needed money, wanting her to concentrate on her studies while desperately trying to afford a new home far away from the disaster, Vienna could only attempt to guide her sister as much as she could—day and night, she investigated like a maniac, trying to collect the right information to help her recover.

And yet her sister was still limping, and her knee was still hurting.

Still, perhaps the worst part was that, thanks to all the trauma, Charlotte had picked up one particular thing from Vienna's personality: she kept her emotions silent, and she would mask the pain with anger if she deemed it necessary. As the little brunette made an effort to hide her expression, Vienna could see her own self reflected in her sister's eyes.

She immediately understood the message: she had to let her sister go.

And so she did, hiding her own shaking hands in an attempt to conceal how worried—and how guilty—she actually felt.

"Um, Vi?" Charlotte then spoke in a thin voice; barely perceptible words, a fearful grimace staining her features. "Why is that thing here?"

Vienna only had to hear the uneasy tone of Charlie's question to know that she was referring to the first aid kit that was now laying on the floor.

She considered it once, twice, and then another time just to be sure, wondering if making up an excuse would be the best option. Still, with the adrenaline that lit her veins up at the mere thought of getting rid of that kit, her tongue could only work with honesty.

"I'm going to throw it away."

The light trace of concern that decorated Charlotte's expression after hearing her statement made her doubt for a split second.

But she had already made a decision, and she was not willing to back out.

"And... what if we need it?"

Vienna just nodded her head reassuringly, looking her straight in the eye. "We won't."

And she spoke with the truth, because she had never been more certain of anything else in her whole life.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Shivers, goosebumps, heavy breaths coming out of her parted lips. The single street light that tainted the sidewalks with a slight tinge of yellow, the quiet wind, the abandoned apartment complex that slept silently on the other side of the road. The first aid kit that was still in her hands, just a few feet away from the trash bin that was located next to her new home, and the way her fingertips seemed to scream at the cold plastic that was laid below them.

Her determination had suddenly disappeared, leaving her alone with a shaky pulse and a bitter taste on the tip of her tongue. There was something about that place—a place that was nothing more than a pathetic stain on the outskirts of Reseda—that made her feel unwelcome.

Like an intruder, in a way. A trespasser, an outsider, not even wanted in one of the cheapest areas of a city like Los Angeles.

Vienna had always appreciated her solitude; she rarely gave a thought to the fact that her social circle back in Colorado had been solely built on a few acquaintances, her sister, and the members of the debate club and the track team. Nevertheless, right then and there, she felt... lonelier than ever, trapped inside an iron bubble with nothing but a kit that somehow represented the past, the life she so desperately wanted to leave behind, and her insides didn't dare to let go.

The girl tried, and kept trying, and told herself that she could do it, that she could start over and make it right. She even tried to use her own words against herself, remembering the promise she had made to her sister not more than five minutes ago. They would not need bandaids or painkillers anymore, at least not for the wrong reasons; the solution was there, laid right in front of her eyes, because the only thing she had to do was throw the cursed object into the trash and go straight back to bed.

But, if it was supposed to be easy, then why did it feel so hard?

Maybe she wasn't strong enough to do it.

Maybe she wasn't strong enough to defend her sister, either.

Whatever, she thought, masking her fear with an annoyed huff. Fuck it. I have to do this. Now or never.

And just then, just when she was finally taking the first couple of fingers off the kit, just when its weight was starting to fade away from her hands as gravity attempted to drag it into the bin, Vienna's attention was drawn towards the old bench that rested in front of her building, where a male figure plopped down with a heavy thud.

Her rational instincts told her to go immediately back inside. Act natural, walk slow but not too slow, pretend that she hadn't seen the stranger, and forget about the first aid kit; she could find another moment—preferably in the morning—to burn it down. Reseda wasn't particularly known for being safe, so avoiding any possible conflict was definitely a good idea.

But then came the first groan.

A sharp hiss. A hushed whisper that sounded like a curse, though she couldn't quite catch it. The boy stayed frozen, as if he were unable to move.

As if... as if he were in pain.

Curiosity rose in her chest, and she couldn't help but squint her eyes, trying to get a closer look.

He was a teenager, probably around her age. Jet black hair reflecting the pale moonlight; tan skin combined with an orange t-shirt, a flannel, and a pair of knockoff Vans. The darkness didn't allow her to see much more, so she took a couple of steps forward, until she finally spotted the way he was clutching his side. His other hand held onto the bench tightly, as if a basic task such as breathing hurt him so bad that he couldn't sit straight. A pain-filled expression, what seemed to be a trace of blood dripping down his chin, and the way he then rested his head against the backrest were more than enough to tell her that he desperately needed help.

Suddenly, the first aid kit started to burn holes in her hands.

She looked at it, then back at the boy. Her heart started beating a little faster, contemplating an idea that was probably far too stupid for someone like her—someone who liked to follow her brain instead of her guts.

But he looked so frustrated, so... defeated, just like her sister when she came back from school with a new bruise. And he was clearly hurt, badly hurt, and she was the only other person in the street at such an unholy hour, holding onto an object that would probably help him and...

At that moment, the only thing she could think of was that, if her sister somehow ended up stuck in the same position as him, she would pay any price just to find someone who could soothe her ache.

And so her feet moved closer and closer to the bench. The boy hadn't seen her yet, and that could have been the sign that Vienna needed to turn around and forget about him, but her tongue had moved before her mind could decide what to do, her mouth had opened before she could even think about stopping it.

"Are you okay?"

She was still a couple of feet away from him, near enough to be heard but not to perceive the details of his face. Nevertheless, she could see the shocked expression that took over his features as he moved his head towards her, the way he blinked a couple of times after looking her up and down.

He seemed... friendly. Genuine, welcoming, even with a bloody face and a disheveled appearance. Vi could only figure that he was one of those kinds of people, the ones who irradiated sunshine and blue skies.

The kind of people she usually thought to be unreal.

"Not exactly at my best." He let out a quiet laugh, but ended up scrunching his face in pain, holding his ribs with a little more force. "Could be worse, though."

Vienna frowned discretely.

Something about his tone, and the sarcastic tint on his tight-lipped smile, told her that perhaps he actually knew what worse could be.

She decided not to give it more thought, though; it was late, and she was probably imagining things.

"Yeah, you could have been bleeding all over the street."

The boy rolled his eyes at her, although he didn't even attempt to hide his chuckle. "I guess that does sound worse," he spoke under his breath. He then proceeded to lick his lips, then looked around as if he didn't know what to do next. "Um, not to be rude but... what are you doing out here? This neighborhood isn't, you know... safe."

"You do know I could ask you the same thing, right?"

Vienna only noticed how harsh she had been when he lowered his gaze towards the pavement. She sighed, knowing she was getting defensive over nothing; he didn't know the real reason why she was there, and it wasn't fair to channel her anger against a stranger who obviously didn't want to harm her.

"Look, I'm sorry to intrude, but you look like you could use some help," she settled on muttering. "I won't ask questions if you don't want me to, I promise."

"Oh." He raised his eyebrows; a mixture between surprise and confusion consuming his features. "You don't have to, really. I'm just a few blocks away from home—"

"I can't—I won't leave you here," Vienna interrupted him firmly. She then showed him the first aid kit that was still trapped between her hands, "Plus, I have this."

And even if I don't want to use it, the girl added mentally, it's the right thing to do.

He thought about it, watching the kit with what seemed to be a hint of interest. Meanwhile, Vi kept balancing her weight from one foot to the other one, awkwardly waiting for an answer. Seconds passed slowly, and she was starting to think that she had made a dumb decision.

However, when he finally nodded, she knew she didn't have time to think about quitting anymore.

"Alright, then." She tried her best to give him a polite smile, pointing at the building behind her.  "Just... follow me. I live right there."

As soon as she finished, Vi turned around, not even waiting for a proper answer.

She had recognized the bubbly sensation in the pit of her stomach. Yes, she was nervous.

Although she had learned how to handle herself when talking to strangers, she knew damn well that she wasn't exactly a people person. She was in a new town, knowing nobody but her family, just a step away from cleaning a boy's wounds, and her pulse had already been jumping faster than normal from all the stress of trying to throw away the freaking first aid kit. She was too tired to think properly, too shaken by the previous events to follow the decisions she was supposed to make—the smart decisions.

She was too focused on controlling her emotions to notice that the stranger hadn't been following her, until she finally caught up on the fact that she wasn't hearing any steps behind her.

He was still on the bench.

This time, however, he was holding onto it with both hands; white knuckles, a tired expression, perhaps a bit of embarrassment in there. He smiled apprehensively, "I... I don't think I can."

Without saying nothing, she went towards him, taking his right arm and slinging it around her shoulders. It felt heavy, and surreal, and... weird—she wasn't sure if that was the right word to describe it, but it fit quite well. Either way, they started walking in silence.

Vienna avoided the boy's gaze, fixing her eyes on the floor. She noticed that he was trying not to rest all of his weight on her, and she secretly appreciated the effort. Still, they almost tripped as they got closer to the building; the boy laughed under his breath, and Vi couldn't help but be infected by his chuckle, though she expertly hid her smile with an improvised cough.

"Could you push the door a little?" He nodded, shoving it with his free arm. Vienna then kicked it completely open, thanking her past self for leaving the door unlocked. Afterwards, she walked him towards the staircase, helped him sit down on one of the steps as he groaned in pain, and let out a sigh of relief once her muscles were able to breathe again. "Stay here. My apartment is on the first floor so... I'll bring some ice for, um, your face."

She was about to climb up the stairs when a grip on her wrist made her stop in her place.

His hand was surprisingly warm—that was the first thing she could think of.

And she was cold. She was always cold.

Vienna cleared her throat, ignoring the way her arm seemed to tingle at the contact. She turned her head to look at him, hoping that the heat she felt on her face was just an illusion.

Somehow, she only wanted to curse herself when she noticed that his eyes were also warm.

"Don't worry about it. I can ice it at home, I know what to do."

And there it was again, behind his tender smile and calming voice: the feeling that he did know a lot about healing bruises and treating wounds, as if he had experienced it before.

The girl only nodded, though, quickly taking her arm away from his grasp. She hadn't realized that she had been holding her breath until she finally took a seat by his side, turning on the lights on her way down.

Vi took the kit, put it over her legs, opened it... and everything went downhill from there.

Her entire world was suddenly consumed by symptoms she knew like the palm of her hand, but they still took her breath away. The fuzzy brain, the strange whistle that pierced her eardrums every time she was forced to clean her sister's wounds, the feeling that she couldn't control her hands as they lingered above the antibiotic cream. Her head hurt, as if it suddenly weighed a thousand pounds and, for a second, she believed that she wouldn't be able to move at all.

And then came the memories of Charlotte's accident, the troubled look on her face as she was being carried to the hospital, her knee, the surgery...

"Everything alright?"

The question seemed to get her out of that trance.

She blinked once, twice, until her vision finally became clearer and her lungs started pumping in the right way. The boy's eyes were mostly filled with confusion, but there was something else in there—something that Vienna recognized as an almost imperceptible trace of worry.

"Yeah," her voice trembled at first, but she managed to fake a smile. "Yeah, all good."

Clean, she told herself. Just clean the blood, get it over with.

From then on, her hands flowed naturally. Vienna decided to concentrate on taking a piece of gauze from the kit, wetting it with the mixture of water and mild soap she had been preparing for years, ever since Charlotte started getting bullied.

She worked as if it was an assignment, pretending that swiping the dry blood away was something strictly academic—nothing more than a test she had to ace. She cleaned the red threat that came down from the cut on his lip, the patch beneath his nose, the one that started on his eyebrow. Having repeated that process many times in the past, she expertly held his chin after he gave her permission, tilting it on her way, and she even thought she heard him curse once or twice in what seemed to be Spanish.

She could pretend that she hadn't noticed the way his voice got lower when the whispered words came out of his lips; that she didn't feel his breath against her own face, the way his eyes kept scanning her expression, or how he clenched his jaw when she pressed onto his skin with more vigor. She didn't have to think about how awkward it was, or how she actually didn't feel uncomfortable although she was tending a stranger's wounds, not even knowing the reason why he was hurt in the first place.

But... she had a feeling that the boy was not going to go it easy for her—that feigning indifference would be almost impossible with a stranger like him.

When he first spoke, Vienna understood that her suspicions were actually true.

"What's your name?"

Her movements stopped momentarily, but she kept cleaning his face before her thoughts could show through her facade.

"Does it matter?"

"Well, you're patching me up; you could at least tell me your name," he joked lightly. However, a gloomier expression took over his face as he continued, "And talking helps with the pain. It distracts me."

"But it still hurts." Vienna arched one of her eyebrows, "You flinch every time you open your mouth."

He let out a tiny laugh, "Hurts like hell, but... I can handle it. So, what's your name?"

Well, seems like this guy truly doesn't know how to keep to himself.

She didn't want to start a conversation—silence was always a safer option than words—, but he was insisting, and he kept staring at her in search of an answer, just like Charlotte did when she wanted to keep her mind away from the pain, so...

She had to answer.

"Vienna."

"Vienna?" The girl only nodded in response. Despite her feigned indifference, she did notice his playful smirk, the glint of amusement that sparked in his eyes. "Vienna like... Austria's capital?"

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," she huffed, biting the inside of her cheek in an attempt to regain concentration.

Her attempt was clearly failing, though.

Her hand kept slipping to the wrong places as she continued cleaning his face, her movements were becoming looser and less precise. Vi had to contained a frustrated groan when she noticed that she had gone a little too far into one of his cuts, and yet he didn't seem to be bothered at all.

Instead, the boy tilted his chin downwards, failing to suppress a chuckle, "Are you implying that I'm basic?"

"Am I? Or are you the one saying it?" She fixed the position of his head, struggling to hide her own smile. Despite her efforts, it ended up taking over her face; the playful banter was getting the best of her and, somehow, she suddenly didn't seem to know how to stop talking. "My mom, my sister and I—we're all named after cities. Mom has always told me that it's a family tradition or something like that."

"Well, Vienna is a pretty name so..." The boy hesitated for a second, but carried on, "Cool tradition, I guess?"

Amusement lingered on his features, and Vi could practically feel his irises burning every single corner of her face.

She pushed it away.

She was already letting go, carried away by how easy it was to talk to him. Vienna didn't want to let her guard down, let alone in front of a stranger who shouldn't have been there in the first place.

The boy, however, didn't keep quiet for too long.

"I'm Miguel, by the way. Miguel Diaz."

It suits him, she mused, noticing the shadow of a dimple on his right cheek, masked by the blood on his skin.

She swallowed heavily at the sight; someone like him didn't seem like the type of guy who would end up covered in red. All of a sudden, motivated by that thought, Vi felt the urge to ask him what had happened.

How had he, a guy who struck her as the human version of a golden retriever, ended up in that situation?

"I know I said I wouldn't ask," she spoke in a low voice, not wanting to disturb him with her curiosity, "but... I just don't understand—"

"It's okay," Miguel cut her off with a comforting expression. "Let's just say I got into a fight."

His eyes darkened, his smile faded slowly. At some point, his foot started tapping the floor in an anxious gesture. Somehow, and although his voice had been clearly dripping with disappointment, that answer seemed way too casual to him.

She doubted at first, but ended up asking anyway, "Is that normal here?"

"You're new to The Valley, aren't you?" Vienna simply nodded; Miguel sighed and went on, "Well, you could say so. Karate is a thing here. It's gotten a little out of hand, though."

"A little?"

"A lot," he corrected himself, grinning at her sarcasm. However, darkness soon started looming over his face. "It's not... it's not just tournaments anymore, it's not a game. I know it sounds stupid, but..."

"No." She took the gauze away from his face, noticing that he was already looking at her. Vi smiled—the sincerest smile she had given him since they first saw each other. "You can tell me," she spoke softly, inviting him to continue.

During the next couple of seconds, he went stiff. Miguel didn't flinch as Vienna continued to treat the fresher parts of his cuts, too lost in his thoughts to even react. Once he seemed to find his words, he finally opened his mouth, "It sometimes feels like a war." He laughed it off, but something obscure flickered in his expression; his Adam's apple bobbed painfully slow, deciding on whether he should keep bottling his feelings or let the all pour down. "It's just that... ever since the accident—"

Vienna felt herself freeze.

"Accident?"

Her heart clawed it's way to her throat, climbing to her ears and beating like a maniac. Her stomach tied itself in knots, and her hand—the one that had been previously disinfecting the last couple of cuts—felt abnormally heavy, dropping to her side.

Accident. He'd had an accident.

"Oh, yeah. Um, I was injured pretty badly." Miguel shrugged. He cleared his throat, looking around as he avoided her gaze. "Had to relearn how to walk. It was months ago, but I... don't really talk about it, though."

"So that's what worse meant," Vienna managed to find her voice, remembering what he had told her at the beginning of their encounter. He found her eyes once again, giving her a confused look. "What you said outside... 'Could've been worse'."

Although there was a trace of sorrow lingering in his eyes, the boy smiled, "Yeah, that's what worse meant."

She could only respond with a smile of her own: a subtle gesture that exuded empathy, the unspoken need to make him understand that she knew what he was talking about. Miguel showed her the tiniest nods, a slight twitch of the corner of his mouth, but she still could distinguish the troubled storm behind his pupils, the ache and the torment and the agony he seemed to have buried deep inside his soul.

It reminded her so much of her sister, of what had happened and... and she knew that she was getting choked up over nothing. Vienna could see that Miguel was starting to frown, as if he had noticed the change in her expression, so she tried to keep herself busy by taking some medical tape and extra gauze from the kit to patch up his deepest cuts.

Her hands were shaking, though.

"Hey," Miguel called her gently, trying to get her attention as she quietly fumbled with the medical tape. "What happened?"

Vi wanted to shrug off the question. She did, she really did.

But all she had to do was look him in the eye to know that maybe he could see right through her.

To see that he would understand.

"My sister also had an accident," she finally croaked out, like a little kid who had just had a nightmare. Vienna struggled to collect her words, and she ended up dropping the tape to the floor. She intended to pick it up, but she was too mad, too shaken, to even give it a try. "It's... it's—fuck, I can't do this."

She clutched the fabric of her sweatpants, containing the urge to bite her nails. The world was turning red, her vision was getting blurry, and all she wanted to do was bury her face between her knees and let out all the screams and the tears and the anger she had been storing inside her chest for so freaking long; like a bomb that was bound to explode, like poison in her skin.

Don't be so sensitive, goddammit. Get yourself together, there's literally a stranger beside you.

But then he whispered that it was okay.

That she didn't have to talk.

That he would pick the medical tape up for her.

And he did, and he didn't even ask her anything about her current state. Miguel just let her emotions cool down, allowing her to build herself back up.

And that was probably the best thing he could have done for her.

"Thanks," she mumbled, and she suspected that he didn't even know what she was thanking him for, but he nodded anyway, grinning slightly.

After that, time passed in silence.

The first aid kit ended up perfectly posed by Miguel on the step below them, and the boy was tapping a tune over the fabric of his jeans. Vienna couldn't help but watch him from the corner of her eye, admiring his calm and collected appearance; even after talking about his own accident, he seemed... content, somehow. His skin was also free from blood, allowing her to see him and not just the cuts on his face, and her eyes unconsciously traveled downwards, stopping on his bruised knuckles.

"You wanna know something?" His voice startled her at the beginning, but she covered it up with a nod, resting her arms over her knees. "Karate is good for that," Miguel continued, pointing at her hands; until then, Vi hadn't noticed that she had been clenching her fists. "The anger," he explained. "It helps you control it, and it's always good to know how to defend yourself—"

Vi gave him a quizzical look, "Are you trying to get me into karate?"

She almost wanted to laugh. No one practiced karate in Colorado; boys craved to play football, most girls wanted to be cheerleaders, and some others liked to play tennis or be a part of the track team, like herself. But karate? No, that was far too harsh, far too risky.

But that boy had spoken so passionately about karate... Vienna almost believed it could be useful.

Miguel, however, seemed to wake up at her question.

"No, actually." His words were now full of sincerity, a bizarre kind of intensity that managed to confuse her. "Perhaps it's better if you don't."

The air suddenly felt heavier, charged with a silent warning. She wasn't able to avert her gaze during the first couple of seconds, but she did manage to clear her throat, deciding that covering his cuts would be the only plausible option from then on.

After a few minutes, Vienna finished her job, closed the kit, and gave it a last glance before letting her head rest against the railing. For a while, they just stood in silence, both of them lost in their minds until a loud tune emerged from the boy's phone.

"That must be my mom." Miguel took his phone out, confirming his suspicion with a sigh, "Shit, she must be worried."

He looked like he was about to apologize, so Vienna decided to cut him off, "It's okay. Just... be careful on your way home." She smirked with a pinch of mischief, "This neighborhood isn't safe, remember?"

"It's not polite to copy someone's words, y'know? And you've done it twice already."

"I cleaned your wounds. I think I have the right to do that."

They both snickered. A light-hearted symphony, one that felt like a bucket of warm water falling over Vienna's tense shoulders. He stared at her with a strange glint in his eye, something that she first recognized as amusement, but then his gaze became gentler, sincere.

"Thank you, really." The boy bumped her knee with his own. It was a quick and playful gesture, simple but full of gratitude, and it made her stiff at the beginning; still, she couldn't help but grin in the end. "I won't ask why you had that with you," he joked, looking at the first aid kit, "but it saved me, so..."

She rolled her eyes, "Do not exaggerate."

"Alright, alright." He raised his hands in defense, "I won't."

As he got up, using the wall beside him as support, his smile didn't disappear. This time, Miguel was able to move, walking calmly towards the door.

Well, he was actually dragging his feet through the floor, but he was still doing a great job at hiding his pain.

And just when his hand touched the doorknob, Vienna felt like she had to do something.

Anything.

"Hey, stranger?"

He turned around.

She let out a sigh.

"Hope you can solve your war or whatever."

Miguel only gave her a tired smirk.

"Yeah... I hope so, too. Goodnight, Vienna."

That night, Vienna Hoffman did not throw the first aid kit away.

She put it right back in the cabinet, just in case another stranger ended up stranded in front of her house, with a busted lip or a bloody nose. For emergencies only, she told herself. And perhaps she was just waiting for that karate boy to come back around, to make her December nights a little warmer.

But she would never dare to admit that, not even to herself.

Oh, and what a shame... Vi really didn't know what she had just gotten herself into.

𓆩 ♡ 𓆪

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oo. ▇  ‧‧ . ༉‧₊˚  𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆  ... ❜

welcome to the first chapter!

a pretty long chapter, not gonna lie, but i really wanted to portray Vienna's personality and thoughts since the beginning while also establishing her connection with Miggy, so i hope that you don't mind it too much. ♡

AND DON'T WORRY, there's still angst to come. did you think these two would get along so easily? not under my watch, and you know the deal: a little bit of enemies to lovers + undeniable connection to spice things up. i really hope you end up liking their dynamic, but first i would like to read your opinions on this chapter. (:

btw, the second chapter will start on season 4, so be prepared because Vienna is going to join Cobra Kai. everything might go downhill from there lmao.

anyway, thank you so much for giving this fic a chance. i really hope you can enjoy it!

leave a comment, vote and share! ♡