"Bruises looked too human on him."
Eli's dorm room smelled faintly like detergent and whatever cheap cologne he'd been using since freshman year. It was clean in that boyish, minimal way. Sparse furniture, hockey gear piled in the corner, a Yale banner thumbtacked crookedly over the bed. The kind of room that said he spent more time at the rink than here.
Silver stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him struggle to take off his jacket with one good arm.
"Don't," he said, noticing her expression. "I can do it."
"Sure you can," she muttered, but she moved forward anyway.
He huffed out a breath as she slid the sleeve carefully over his injured shoulder. The movement made him wince.
"I told you I could—"
"Yeah, and you were wrong," she said, setting the jacket on the back of his desk chair. "You shouldn't even be moving that arm."
Eli gave her a look, one brow raised. "You sound like my trainer."
"Maybe she's right too."
