"Nothing bloody happened," he said, and the words were an obvious lie, but the rough edge of his voice said something different: I don't want to talk about it. He could feel Tuck's gaze on him, cataloguing his bruises, itching against his skin. Unable to wriggle out from under it, he took another swig from the bottle instead, felt the whiskey burn its way down to his empty stomach. Cornered for the second time today, fuck, you'd think he'd have learned better by now.