Thomas Sangster

Rain pounded the glass when there was a gentle but insistent knock on the window. Mia put her books down, sighed heavily, and already knew exactly who she would see on the fire escape. Thomas stood on the ledge, shivering from the cool breeze. His school uniform was stained with mud, a fresh bruise was visible on his cheekbone, and his split lip was crusted over with a dark crust.
"Sangster, will you ever go through a Friday without a fight?" Mia whispered, pulling him into the warm room and locking the frame.
He smelled faintly of cheap beer from some rowdy courtyard party. He smiled guiltily—that same slightly cheeky, yet boyish smile with the narrowed brown eyes.
"They started it this time, honestly," Thomas muttered, swaying slightly and allowing himself to be pulled to the edge of the bed. "Besides, I had a good reason to stand up for the honor of our school."
“Your good excuse always ends with cotton wool and antiseptic,” she grumbled, taking a first aid kit out of the drawer.
Mia knelt down next to him. Her fingers touched his chin, turning his face toward the lamplight. Thomas hissed when the alcohol-soaked cotton pad touched his cut eyebrow, but he didn't even try to pull away. He simply looked up at her, barely blinking.
“You are beautiful,” he said quietly, almost breathlessly.
Mia froze for a second, leaving the cotton wool at his temple and shaking her head.

• You're drunk, Thomas.
  Sangster narrowed his eyes slightly, overcoming the sharp pain in his split lip.
  "You're right, I'm drunk. But I'll be sober in the morning, and you'll still be beautiful."