What are Friends For [part 2]

The silence that follows is thick with unresolved tension and years of things that needed to be said but wouldn't come out. Instead, Emmit just stares dumbly at Daaron who, taking his silence as a bad sign, returns to stacking up the books and papers and standing up with them cradled in one arm as his other stretches out to assist Emmit to his feet.
"I'm sorry....about all this" Daaron spits out, groping for words that won't make the other upset.
"N-no. It's fine." Emmit replies, clearing his throat as he stands up on his own and moves to take his books back into his own hands.
"How have you been?"
Emmit shrugs and begins studying the sidewalk intently. The two hadn't parted on the best of terms, so Daaron isn't exactly surprised by the distant treatment he's receiving.
"I've been better. Why are you here?" Emmit's voice takes on an accusatory tone, and he finally turns his eyes up to meet Daaron's, the pain and anger in the emerald irises so intense it makes Daaron take a physical step back.
"I..." he holds up his hands in an unspoken plea of forgiveness, not wanting to cross any lines "I just had to get things from my dad's house. The last few years have been, well, hard."
Emmit snorts, rolling his eyes and shifting his books from one arm to the other. Silence ensues between the two of them until a car drives by, the headlights throwing ghostly light across Daaron's face so Emmit can get a real look at it for the first time since their collision.
For a brief second, every mark on Daaron's face is like a giant neon sign. His bottom lip is split and swollen, and both of his cheeks are already blackening and huge. A line of blood trickles over his left cheekbone from a cut on his temple, and the rest of his face is littered with cuts and marks of different sizes and shapes.
"Storm" Emmit breathes out, and Daaron knows by the tone of his voice he's seen his face, and his hands involuntarily pull his hood back up around his head, casting him into shadows again.
His crimson eyes glow in the darkness like a monsters, and they watch carefully as Emmit sets down his books and reaches up with small, feminine hands to push back his hood one more time.
"Idiot" Emmit grimaces, shaking his dark head accusingly. "After all these years and you still let him do this to you?"
"I don't exactly have a choice. It's not like I go in there and say 'hey dad, I think today is a good day for you to beat me to a pulp. thanks.'"
His sarcasm is rewarded with a sharp wrap on his swollen cheek that causes him to flinch away in pain.
"You go away without so much as a word for almost five years, and I hate you for that, but you need my help right now, so I'll help you, but you're not allowed to talk."