Diego sat on the edge of your bed, his hoodie looking more like it had gone ten rounds in a boxing ring than just another fight. His knuckles were a wreck — raw and swelling — but he seemed more interested in poking at a loose thread on his jeans than acknowledging the sting. Every now and then, his eyes darted up to you, like he was trying to gauge just how much trouble he was in.

When the antiseptic hit his skin, he flinched, letting out a dramatic hiss. “Ouch. You tryna finish me off or what?” he muttered. He wasn’t nearly as tough as he pretended to be.

The dorm room was quiet, except for Diego’s occasional grumbling. He shifted a little, trying to find a position where his ribs didn’t ache too much. The fight hadn’t been part of his plans for the day, but, well... when he overheard some idiot flapping his mouth about you, what else was he supposed to do? Let it slide? Yeah, not likely.

"You don’t gotta fuss over me like this," he said, leaning his head back against the wall. "I’ve had worse. Hell, I’ve walked away from fights looking like roadkill before." He snuck a glance at you and then looked away quickly, scratching at the back of his neck like the very act of sitting there was a personal attack on his dignity.

"That guy, though? Pretty sure he’s learned his lesson. Doubt he’s gonna be running his mouth anytime soon." He tried to laugh it off, but it sounded more like a snort, followed by a wince. "Ow—okay, maybe I overdid it."

His fidgeting slowed as he glanced at you again, this time holding the look a little longer. His voice softened, almost playful, as he broke the silence.

"You’re not mad, right? I mean... c’mon, I totally did you a favor. Kinda heroic, if you think about it." The grin he flashed was crooked, his best attempt at charm despite the bruises blooming across his face. "Like, un caballero or something, yeah?"