Chapter Text
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the thin curtains of your bedroom, painting golden streaks across the walls. You groaned softly, burying your face into the pillow as you resisted the pull of wakefulness. After a few moments, the incessant brightness won, and you blinked your eyes open, squinting at the clock on your bedside table. It was early—too early for a Saturday—but the restlessness from last night still clung to you like an unwelcome weight.
You rolled over, reaching instinctively for your phone. The screen lit up as you unlocked it, fingers hesitating before opening your messages. Your heart gave a tiny jump as you scrolled to the thread with Baji’s name at the top, even though you already knew what you’d find. Or what you wouldn’t.
The message you’d sent the night before stared back at you, unanswered. No reply. No “Read” indicator. Just the same empty space you’d been staring at last night.
You sighed, letting your arm flop back onto the bed as you dropped the phone beside you. Staring at the ceiling, you tried to rationalize it. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he didn’t see it. Maybe… he just doesn’t care? You winced at the last thought, pushing it away as quickly as it came. The uncertainty was gnawing at you, no matter how much you tried to shrug it off.
Your cat’s soft meow broke through your spiral of thoughts. You glanced over to see it perched on the pillow beside you, its golden eyes watching you intently. “What?” you muttered, voice still groggy. “You think I should’ve said something else?”
The cat meowed again, stretching out languidly before nuzzling its head against your arm. You let out a soft laugh, reaching to scratch behind its ears. Its purring filled the quiet room, a small comfort against the knot of unease in your chest.
“Guess it’s not worth stressing over, huh?” you murmured, more to yourself than the cat. It blinked at you lazily, as if agreeing. But no matter how hard you tried to push it aside, the unanswered message stayed at the forefront of your mind. Had you come on too strong? Should you have waited for him to reach out first? Did he see it and just… not care?
You rolled over onto your stomach, burying your face into the pillow with a groan. The cat pawed gently at your hair, but you ignored it, fighting the urge to grab your phone and check the thread again. The logical part of you knew it wouldn’t have changed, but the temptation was still there.
Eventually, you sat up with a sigh, stretching as you resolved to shake it off. “I’ll give him the weekend,” you muttered to the cat, who tilted its head at you curiously. “If he doesn’t text me by then, whatever. I’ll survive.”
Still, the thought lingered as you settled back under the covers. Pulling the blankets snugly around you, you decided to sleep off the unease. Your cat curled up beside you, its small, warm body pressed against your side, and you closed your eyes, willing the racing thoughts to quiet. But even as you drifted off, the unanswered message stayed in the back of your mind like a faint, nagging whisper.
You pulled the blanket up to your chin, burrowing into its warmth as you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall back asleep. The soft purring of your cat beside you provided a faint, rhythmic comfort, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the thoughts swirling in your mind.
Why hasn’t he texted back? The question hit you again, louder this time, and you groaned into your pillow, flipping onto your back in frustration. The ceiling stared down at you, blank and indifferent, offering no answers.
Your cat stirred, stretching before hopping off the bed. It padded across the room, its soft steps barely audible as you stared at the spot it had just vacated. “Even you’re over this, huh?” you muttered, your voice heavy with exasperation.
Grabbing your phone again, you unlocked it, your thumb hovering over the message thread. What if he didn’t see it? What if I text him again? The idea of a double text made your stomach twist with embarrassment. You tossed the phone back onto the nightstand, only to pick it up again seconds later, scrolling through old conversations that felt entirely too one-sided now.
You sighed, rubbing your temples. Sleeping it off was clearly not going to happen. Every time you closed your eyes, your thoughts dragged you right back to the unanswered message, to the lingering feeling of uncertainty.
Was it too much? Did I say the wrong thing? The questions refused to settle, and the knot in your stomach tightened with each one. The calm resolve you’d told yourself to have was crumbling fast.
Throwing off the blanket, you sat up abruptly, running a hand through your hair. The morning light streaming through the curtains only made the situation feel more surreal, as if the world outside was moving on without any idea of the ridiculous spiral you were trapped in.
Your cat meowed from the corner, rubbing against your leg as if to remind you of its presence. “Yeah, I know,” you said, scratching its head absentmindedly. “I’m overthinking this. He’s probably just… busy. Or forgot. Or…” Your voice trailed off, the excuses sounding hollow even to yourself.
You sighed, standing up and stretching as your cat followed at your heels. Sleep was clearly a lost cause. Maybe some food or a distraction would help, but even as you padded out of your room, the unanswered message lingered in the back of your mind, a stubborn weight you couldn’t shake.
You trudged into the kitchen, the soft padding of your cat’s paws trailing close behind you. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, painting the walls in soft, golden hues. Despite the beauty of the day, your thoughts felt heavy, the unanswered text still lingering in the back of your mind like a dull ache.
Pulling open the fridge, you scanned the contents with little enthusiasm. Eggs, bread, fruit… Nothing seemed particularly appealing, but you grabbed what you needed for a simple breakfast. Setting the ingredients on the counter, you moved with the automatic rhythm of routine, cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them absentmindedly.
A soft, insistent meow broke through your thoughts, and you looked down to see your cat weaving between your legs, tail swishing impatiently. “Alright, alright,” you mumbled, turning toward the cabinet where you kept its food. You grabbed the container, pouring a generous portion into its bowl before setting it down. “Here you go. Don’t eat too fast, okay?”
Your cat purred in approval, immediately diving into its meal with enthusiasm. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched it, the simple act of taking care of something else momentarily easing your restless thoughts.
The sizzle of butter hitting the pan pulled you back to your own breakfast, and you poured the beaten eggs into the skillet, the kitchen filling with the warm, familiar aroma. You popped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster, leaning against the counter as the eggs cooked. The sound of your cat’s crunching and the gentle hum of the kitchen were the only noises in the quiet morning, but your mind was far from still.
Your gaze drifted to the phone sitting on the counter, and you had to resist the urge to pick it up again. He’ll reply eventually… maybe he’s just busy, you told yourself, but the knot of unease in your chest didn’t loosen.
The toaster popped, making you flinch slightly, and you busied yourself with assembling your plate. Scrambled eggs, toast, and a handful of fresh fruit—simple but enough to get you through the morning. Pouring a glass of orange juice, you carried everything to the small table by the window.
Sitting down, you took a slow bite of your toast, chewing thoughtfully as your eyes wandered to the view outside. Birds flitted across the yard, their carefree movements a stark contrast to the whirlwind of worry still sitting in your stomach. You glanced down at your cat, now lounging contentedly at your feet, and couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at how effortlessly relaxed it seemed.
You tried to focus on the food, on the sunlight warming your skin, on the soft sound of the world waking up outside. But no matter how hard you tried, your thoughts kept circling back.
Why hasn’t he replied?
After finishing your breakfast, you gather your plate and glass, setting them in the sink with a faint clink. Your cat trails after you as you make your way down the hall to the bathroom, its soft meows filling the quiet space.
The bathroom feels cool, the faint scent of lavender lingering from a half-used candle sitting on the counter. You turn on the faucet, letting the water run for a moment before squeezing a line of minty toothpaste onto your toothbrush. Leaning forward, you start brushing your teeth, the rhythmic motion helping you focus.
Your cat hops onto the edge of the counter, watching you with curious eyes as if silently judging your routine. You finish brushing and rinse your mouth, then grab a hairbrush from the drawer. As you work it through your hair, untangling the knots from sleep, you glance at your reflection in the mirror. There’s a tiredness in your eyes, but also a spark of something—maybe curiosity, maybe restlessness.
Your cat lets out another meow, as if to remind you it’s still there. You smile faintly, running your fingers over its head before continuing to style your hair. It’s a small, simple routine, but somehow it feels just a little more important today.
You set down the hairbrush and open the cabinet, pulling out the small collection of skincare products you’ve slowly grown attached to over time. As you begin your routine, the familiar rhythm of cleansing and moisturizing takes over, but your thoughts remain elsewhere—circling back to him.
First, you gently wash your face, the cool water waking you up a little more. You pat your skin dry with a soft towel, staring into the mirror as you reach for your toner. It’s impossible not to think about Baji—how he hadn’t replied yet, and how that tiny, nagging feeling in the back of your mind refused to let it go.
Was he busy? Did he forget? Or worse—was he purposely ignoring you? The thought makes your stomach twist slightly, and you shake your head, trying to focus as you swipe the toner across your face with a cotton pad.
Next comes the serum, then moisturizer. You move methodically, your fingers gliding over your skin, but it’s as if Baji’s name is written on the inside of your eyelids. You keep replaying little moments in your mind—his teasing smile, the way his laugh seemed to fill the space between you like it belonged there.
“Stop overthinking it,” you mutter under your breath, grabbing a small concealer stick. You dab it lightly under your eyes, blending it in before applying a touch of blush to your cheeks. A swipe of mascara follows, the wand steady in your hand despite the nervous energy simmering beneath the surface.
You lean closer to the mirror, brushing some tinted balm over your lips. The final touch makes you look a little more awake, but it doesn’t stop the way your thoughts keep drifting back to him.
“Maybe he’s just busy,” you tell yourself again, as if repeating it enough times will make you believe it. With a final glance in the mirror, you put everything back in its place and head out of the bathroom, but even as you move on to the next thing, Baji remains stubbornly rooted in your mind.
You step out of the bathroom, your skin feeling fresh and dewy, the faint scent of your moisturizer lingering in the air. Padding down the hallway, you make your way back into your room, where the soft morning light spills through the curtains, giving everything a cozy glow. Your cat is curled up on your bed, giving you a lazy blink before settling back into its spot.
As you step over to your dresser, you can’t help but think about him. Baji’s face flashes in your mind—his messy hair, the way his lips curl into that teasing smirk, the casual confidence in his voice. The thought makes your chest feel tight, and you catch yourself zoning out, staring blankly at your drawer before shaking your head. Get it together, you think, trying to focus on picking out clothes.
You pull out a light, airy top with subtle lace trim and a pair of comfortable but flattering jeans, holding them up in front of you. For a second, you wonder if Baji would even notice an outfit like this—or if he’d just tease you about it, like always.
Slipping on the jeans and tucking the shirt loosely at the waist, you glance at the mirror, smoothing out the fabric and adjusting the neckline slightly. Your cat stirs then, stretching out before hopping off the bed. You watch it saunter toward its food bowl with that calm confidence you wish you had.
Your mind drifts again. What if Baji actually had noticed you more than he let on? You try to push the thought away, but it lingers, your stomach fluttering as you imagine his crooked smile and the way he leans in just a little too close when he teases you.
With a sigh, you grab a pair of ankle socks, pulling them on as your mind stubbornly refuses to move past the boy who’s somehow managed to take up so much space in your head. You pick up your phone, almost without thinking, and glance at the screen. Still nothing.
Biting your lip, you toss your phone onto the bed and move to grab your shoes, trying not to let your thoughts get too carried away. But even as you adjust your outfit one last time in the mirror, you know the day ahead will be hard to focus on when he’s still so frustratingly stuck in your mind.
Before you even know it, you find yourself slipping on your sneakers, the cool air of the morning brushing against your skin as you open the door. The thought of Baji still lingers in your mind, but it’s not enough to keep you locked inside. A quick run around the block, you tell yourself, just to clear your head.
The crisp morning air fills your lungs as you step outside, the sun still low in the sky, casting a soft golden hue over everything. The familiar sights of your neighborhood greet you—leafy trees swaying gently in the breeze, the distant hum of traffic, the faint chirping of birds as they begin their day. It feels like a little slice of peace, a moment where nothing is expected of you.
You start walking at first, stretching your legs, trying to shake off the tension in your shoulders. As you round the corner, your feet begin to pick up speed, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps matching the steady beat of your heart.
Focus on the run, you tell yourself. Clear your mind, just focus on the motion.
But even as your pace picks up, it’s hard to ignore the thought of Baji creeping back in. His smirk, the way he looks at you like he’s daring you to keep up with him, the casual way he teases you. It’s like he’s always just a step behind you, always in the back of your mind. You huff a little, pushing yourself faster, as if running could make it all go away.
Your breath quickens with the effort, but so does the ache in your chest. And just like that, before you know it, you’re already at the halfway point of the block, the world around you moving in a blur as your thoughts continue to swirl.
You wish you could stop thinking about him—but somehow, with every step, you feel like the space between you and your thoughts only grows wider, until everything else fades out of focus.
As your feet hit the pavement with each step, your thoughts continue to swirl, and you find yourself drifting back to Baji. It’s not like you’ve forgotten about him, but now, you’re thinking more about the way he was acting last time you saw him. The teasing, the smirks—they were all part of his usual vibe. But somewhere in the back of your mind, there was a tiny voice that whispered something’s off.
What if he’s not okay?
You try to shake the thought off, but it lingers, like a subtle itch you can’t scratch. Maybe it’s just your imagination running wild. After all, you had seen him just the day before, and he was fine. But what if—what if something happened?
You stop walking for a moment, standing still in the middle of the sidewalk. Your heart beats a little faster as you picture his face, the way he had looked at you, his eyes a little more intense than usual. The thought of him being alone, maybe going through something without anyone to lean on, stirs something in you—a weird mix of concern and maybe even a touch of guilt.
Without even thinking, your feet are moving again, this time toward his street. You don’t really know what you’re going to do when you get there, but the urge to check on him is undeniable.
You tell yourself it’s not about being dramatic or overbearing. It’s just… you want to make sure he’s alright. Not to barge in or force him into conversation, but maybe just see if he’s home, if everything’s okay.
By the time you reach his block, you slow down, walking casually as you near his house. The familiar sight of it brings a strange comfort, and yet there’s a bit of hesitation in the pit of your stomach. What if he’s not there? What if he’s doing fine, just like usual, and you’ve completely overthought everything?
You glance up at his window, the same one you had seen him disappear into the last time you found yourself standing outside his house. The faint memory of his figure slipping behind that window makes your stomach flutter, but now there’s nothing—no sign of him, no movement at all.
The house is eerily still, the windows reflecting the soft morning light, casting long shadows across the walls inside. You don’t know why, but the emptiness of it all makes you feel a little uneasy, like you’re missing something important.
The silence hangs heavy, and for a brief moment, you wonder if you’re just overthinking everything. Maybe he’s fine, you tell yourself. Maybe he’s just busy inside, or even still asleep. After all, it’s still early, and it’s a Saturday.
You shake your head, trying to push the thoughts away, but the uncertainty lingers. You’re not sure why you even came here—what’s the point? You can’t just keep worrying about him all the time. You barely know him, after all. And yet, here you are, standing on his street like some kind of stranger watching his house, wondering if you’re making too much out of something that might not even be an issue.
You sigh quietly, taking a small step back, your eyes still lingering on the window. The desire to know that he’s alright, to make sure he’s not spiraling or facing anything alone, is almost overpowering. But you don’t know what you’d do if you did see him. What if he was just fine? What would that mean for you, for this weird concern that you’re carrying?
A mix of relief and frustration floods you. What if everything’s fine?
With one last look at the house, you take a slow breath. Maybe you’re reading too much into all of this. You force yourself to turn away, trying to convince yourself that you’re just overreacting, but something tugs at your chest, making it harder to leave. You stand there, still, caught in that limbo of wanting to check, but knowing you can’t really do anything more than stand there.
And so, you wait. For what, you’re not sure.
You stand there, rooted to the spot, your feet growing a little heavier with every passing minute. The quiet street around you seems to stretch on forever as the world moves on, oblivious to the small internal turmoil you’re battling. You keep glancing at Baji’s window, then down the street, and back again, your mind running through every possible reason why he might not be answering or texting you.
The minutes blend together in a haze, and before you know it, it’s been almost an hour since you first stood there, trying to convince yourself that you’re overreacting. The sun slowly climbs higher in the sky, the warmth of midday pushing against the chill of the morning air. Yet, you feel strangely cold, like you’re stuck in some frozen moment, unable to let go of the nagging feeling that maybe something is wrong.
What if he’s not home? you think, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. What if he’s sick, or busy, or just… not here?
You watch a car pass by, a few people walk their dogs, but none of it seems to break through the static in your head. Every car that drives down the street makes you tense up, hoping it’s his, but it never is. And each moment that passes without any sign of him only seems to deepen the gnawing worry inside you.
By now, it’s noon, and you can feel the weight of the time pressing on you. The hours you’ve spent out here, unsure of what to do with yourself, start to make you question if this is really the right thing. You shouldn’t even be here, right? It’s not like you have any reason to be this invested in someone else’s life—someone who barely knows you.
You take one last look at the window, your stomach heavy with indecision. The quiet street still hums around you, but you feel oddly out of place, like you’ve overstayed your welcome. You can’t help but feel silly for standing out here for so long, waiting for a sign that never came. Maybe I’m just overthinking this, you think, your shoulders slumping as you finally pull your gaze away.
With a sigh, you turn around, your feet moving slowly at first, reluctant to leave, but knowing you probably should. The walk back home feels longer than it did when you first left, the quiet air pressing down on you as the weight of your decision settles. Your mind is still buzzing with questions, what-ifs, and a sense of unease that doesn’t seem to fade, no matter how much you try to push it away.
As you approach your house, you almost expect to feel some sense of relief, but instead, there’s only a quiet disappointment, like you’ve missed something. You stand in front of your door for a moment, breathing in the cool air, your fingers still clutching the handle of your bag. The thought of going back inside, back into your routine, feels a little hollow.
You shake your head, forcing your thoughts to shift away from Baji and the nagging worry that’s been chasing you all morning. You don’t know what’s going on with him, and standing out there won’t change that.
With a deep breath, you finally unlock the door and step inside, the familiar warmth of your home greeting you. You take a moment to glance around the quiet space, the stillness of it contrasting sharply with the unease you’ve been carrying. But the comfort of being back inside, away from the uncertainty, eases some of the tension in your chest.
You slip off your shoes and head into your room, closing the door behind you. A soft, exhaled breath escapes your lips as you sit on your bed, sinking into the familiar softness of your sheets. You feel exhausted, mentally and emotionally drained, even though you didn’t do much of anything today.
Your phone sits on your nightstand, still silent. No messages. No updates. You don’t know why it stings a little, but it does. You can’t help but wonder what Baji’s doing, if he’s okay, or if you should’ve just gone up to his door instead of standing on the sidewalk like some stranger.
But you push those thoughts aside as you lie back on your bed, closing your eyes and trying to clear your head. There’s nothing more you can do right now, and you need to let it go. For now, at least. Maybe tomorrow will be different.
As soon as you close your eyes, hoping for some peace of mind, your phone suddenly starts ringing—loud, persistent, and jarring. You groan, blinking in frustration as the screen lights up with Baji’s name flashing across the display.
You hesitate for a moment, your heart skipping a beat. Baji? You grab the phone, quickly answering it before it rings again.
“Hello?”
There’s a brief pause on the other end before you hear his voice—gruff, but with a hint of something else, maybe frustration or annoyance.
“Yo, it’s Baji,” he says, and you can practically hear him pacing. “Listen, I need a favor. My mom kicked me out of the house, and I’m kinda stuck here. Can I come over?”
You sit up, a wave of confusion and concern washing over you. You glance down at the screen to make sure it’s really him, then glance around your room, unsure of how to respond.
“What do you mean, she kicked you out?” you ask, voice still a little sleepy from your earlier attempt to nap.
“Long story. Doesn’t matter. But, uh… yeah. Can I come over? I’m kinda in a jam here, and I could really use somewhere to crash for a bit.”
Your mind races, your heart pounding in your chest. You weren’t expecting this, but at the same time, you can’t deny the weird feeling of relief that he’s calling you.
“Sure,” you finally say, despite your mind still racing. “You can come over.”
You hear him breathe out in relief on the other end of the line. “Thanks. I’ll be there soon.”
You drop your phone back onto the bed, your mind buzzing with all sorts of questions. Why did his mom kick him out? What’s going on with him? And how are you supposed to handle having him in your space?
You pull yourself together as best as you can, standing up and quickly tidying your room, nerves flaring up again. The day, which had felt so still just moments before, suddenly feels like it’s about to change in ways you weren’t prepared for.
You rush into the kitchen, glancing around frantically as you start cleaning up the dishes from breakfast. You hastily wipe down the counters, trying to get rid of any crumbs or stray coffee mugs. The sink is a mess, but you quickly load everything into the dishwasher, hoping Baji won’t notice that your place wasn’t exactly pristine before he called. You move quickly, your mind racing, all while trying to avoid the overwhelming thought of how weird it’ll be to have him here—at your place. You glance up at the clock; you’re running out of time.
Once the kitchen is as neat as you can manage, you head into the living room, looking around with a critical eye. You grab the stray magazines, toss the pillows back onto the couch, and straighten the rug. It’s a small space, but somehow, you feel like you’re preparing for an event rather than just hosting him for a little while.
You step back from your quick cleaning, a satisfied smile on your face as you glance around the room. It’s not perfect, but it’s much better than it was, and for a second, you let yourself feel proud. Maybe you could even relax for a moment before Baji gets here, but just as you take a deep breath, the doorbell rings, startling you out of your thoughts.
You freeze, eyes wide, your heart skipping a beat. You didn’t tell Baji where you lived. You didn’t even mention the street or the building. How did he—? A wave of panic rushes over you, your mind racing, and you quickly rush to the door to open it. When you open it, your breath catches in your throat.
Standing there is Baji, but something’s wrong. His face is bruised, his lip split and swollen, and his shirt is torn in places. His usual mischievous grin is nowhere to be found, replaced by a grimace of pain as he leans slightly against the doorframe for support. You stand frozen for a moment, the words you wanted to say caught in your throat. What happened? How did he get like this? Before you can say anything, his eyes flicker to yours, and he gives you a tired, crooked smile. “Hey… You think I could come in for a bit?”
You step aside, your heart still racing as Baji limps past you into the house. The weight of his injuries feels almost tangible in the air, and you can’t stop yourself from staring. He drops his bag near the door and looks around your living room, his tired eyes scanning the space.
“Nice place,” he says, his voice rough, but there’s a hint of his usual teasing tone buried under the exhaustion. Before you can respond, a soft sound breaks the silence—a quiet meow. Mika Jr., your cat, saunters into the room, tail held high, her curious eyes fixed on Baji.
Baji notices her immediately, crouching down with a wince. “This little gremlin Must be Mika Jr” he says, holding out a hand. Mika Jr. sniffs at him cautiously before rubbing her face against his knuckles, purring loudly.
“Yup.,” you say, watching as she circles around him, clearly warming up to him much faster than you expected. “She’s usually not this friendly with strangers.”
Baji chuckles softly, scratching under her chin. “Guess she’s got good taste. Bet she’s your little partner-in-crime, huh?” His voice carries a faint amusement, but there’s something gentle in the way he handles her, his bruised hand moving carefully.
You nod, the sight of him with Mika Jr. tugging at something in your chest. For a moment, the tension eases, and you feel a little less worried. But then your eyes fall on the bruises marking his face, and the knot in your stomach tightens again. “Baji,” you say softly, “what happened to you?”
He glances up at you, the teasing glint in his eyes faltering. “Long story,” he mutters, before turning his attention back to Mika Jr. “But don’t worry, I’ve been through worse.”
You watch as Baji strokes Mika Jr. a few more times before standing, his movements slow and deliberate. The bruises on his face and the stiffness in his posture make your chest ache, but you keep your expression calm.
“Come on,” you say softly, “you can stay in the guest room for as long as you need. It’s not much, but it’s comfortable.”
Baji hesitates for a moment, glancing at you with a look you can’t quite read. Then he nods, his voice quiet. “Thanks, I owe you.”
You lead him down the hallway to the small guest room at the end, opening the door to reveal a modest space. It’s mostly bare—a simple bed with plain white sheets, a small wooden nightstand, and a dusty chair in the corner. The sight makes you grimace slightly.
“Sorry, I don’t really use this room much,” you mumble, stepping inside to tidy up. You grab the chair and slide it out of the way before adjusting the pillows and smoothing out the sheets. “Let me just… clean it up a bit.”
Baji leans against the doorframe, watching you with an amused expression despite the weariness in his eyes. “You don’t have to do all that,” he says, but there’s no mistaking the appreciation in his tone.
“Yeah, I do,” you reply firmly, glancing over your shoulder at him. “If you’re staying here, you’re at least getting a decent place to sleep.”
He doesn’t argue, just stays where he is, his gaze softening as you move around the room. Once you finish, you step back and gesture toward the bed. “There. Should be good to go now.”
Baji steps inside, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm as he passes by. “Seriously, thanks,” he murmurs, dropping his bag onto the chair. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“You’re my friend,” you say simply, folding your arms as you lean against the doorframe. “Of course I’m going to help.”
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with a quiet intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. Then he smirks faintly. “Lucky me, huh?”
You roll your eyes at his teasing tone but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Just get some rest, Baji. You look like you need it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, sitting down carefully on the edge of the bed.
“Oh, and you can take a shower in the extra bathroom across the hall if you need,” you say, the warmth in your tone betraying your attempt at sounding nonchalant. With one last glance at him, you step out of the room, closing the door part way behind you to give him some privacy.
You make your way back to the kitchen, your mind racing with thoughts of Baji and his unexpected arrival. The sound of the shower starting in the background confirms he’s settled in, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
Deciding he’s probably starving after whatever ordeal he went through, you start pulling ingredients from the fridge and pantry. A casserole feels like the easiest option—warm, filling, and enough to share. You grab some pasta, a block of cheese, vegetables, and a pack of chicken from the fridge. With your cat, Mika Jr., weaving between your feet, you set to work.
Chopping vegetables gives your hands something to do, keeping you focused as you mull over the sight of him at your door. You can’t shake the bruises on his face, the weariness in his posture, or the fact that he hadn’t even needed directions to find your house. The thought makes your chest tighten, and you focus on grating cheese to distract yourself.
As the pasta boils, you sauté the vegetables and chicken in a pan, the savory aroma quickly filling the kitchen. You hum softly under your breath as you stir everything together, layering the ingredients in a baking dish before sprinkling cheese on top. Sliding the dish into the oven, you wipe your hands on a dish towel and glance toward the hallway, where the sound of running water is still faintly audible.
You hope the warm meal will help, even if it’s just a small comfort. Adjusting the oven timer, you lean against the counter and take a deep breath, letting the familiar rhythm of cooking settle your nerves. The kitchen feels a little brighter now, the smell of melting cheese and roasting vegetables promising a meal that might make things feel a bit more normal, even just for tonight.
As you finish wiping down the counter, the sound of the shower shutting off catches your attention. You pause, glancing toward the hallway. The casserole still has time in the oven, and with nothing else to do, your thoughts drift back to the bruises and cuts scattered across Baji’s face.
He probably cleaned them the best he could in the shower, but knowing him, he’d brush off the idea of properly taking care of his injuries. He’s stubborn like that. You frown, debating for a moment before deciding you can’t just leave it be. He might not ask for help, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it.
Grabbing the small first-aid kit from the cabinet under the sink, you set it on the counter and open it, double-checking that everything is there: antiseptic wipes, bandages, ointment. You let out a breath, steeling yourself. This is just practical. He’s hurt, and you’re the one here to help. That’s all.
Still, there’s a nervous flutter in your chest as you knock softly on the guest room door. “Baji? You decent?” you call, voice lighter than you feel.
There’s a pause before his voice answers, muffled but clear enough. “Yeah. What’s up?”
“I thought you might need some help patching yourself up,” you say, your tone casual. “I’ve got a first-aid kit.”
For a second, there’s only silence. Then the door creaks open slightly, and he steps into view, hair damp and falling messily around his face, wearing the same outfit he came here in. He looks better, cleaner, but the bruises stand out even more vividly now against his pale skin.
He scratches the back of his neck, eyes darting to the first-aid kit in your hands. “Uh… yeah. Sure. If you’re up for it.”
You give him a small smile and nod. “Of course. Sit down, and I’ll take care of it.”
Baji hesitates for a moment before pulling the hem of his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the bed in one fluid motion. You try not to let your gaze linger on him for too long, but it’s hard not to notice the mess of bruises and cuts marring his chest and arms. There’s a deep scrape along his shoulder and several smaller ones scattered across his torso, along with a patchwork of older scars that tell a story you’re not sure you’re ready to hear.
“Don’t look so worried,” he says, catching the look on your face. His voice is teasing, but there’s a softness to it. “I’ve been through worse.”
You roll your eyes, pulling up a chair beside him and opening the first-aid kit. “That’s not exactly comforting, you know.”
He smirks, leaning back slightly to give you more room to work. You start with the deeper cut on his shoulder, cleaning it carefully with an antiseptic wipe. He hisses through his teeth at the sting, his hand twitching slightly but staying at his side.
“Sorry,” you murmur, focusing on your task. You’re careful, moving from one wound to the next, cleaning and applying ointment with steady hands. Still, your heart races in your chest, both from the close proximity and the way Baji is watching you, his dark eyes unwavering.
“You’re pretty good at this,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter than usual. “You sure you’re not some kind of nurse in disguise?”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Nope. Just a quick learner. Besides, someone has to take care of you since you clearly won’t do it yourself.”
He chuckles, the sound low and rough, but it carries a warmth that makes your cheeks flush. “Guess I got lucky, huh?”
You glance up at him, meeting his gaze for a moment before quickly looking back down, pretending to focus on the bandage you’re wrapping around his arm. “Don’t push it, Baji.”
You swallow hard, trying to keep your focus as you move to clean the smaller cuts on Baji’s chest. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips as you work, and you silently scold yourself for noticing. You’re supposed to be helping him, not letting your brain spiral into places it has no business going.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Baji teases, his voice low and slightly amused. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
You glance up at him briefly, meeting his dark, mischievous eyes. His smirk only makes your pulse race faster. “I’m trying to concentrate,” you reply, your tone sharper than intended. “Do you want me to mess this up?”
“Guess not,” he says with a soft chuckle, leaning back slightly to let you continue. “Didn’t realize cleaning a few cuts was so intense.”
You roll your eyes but don’t reply, focusing instead on the shallow scrape running across his ribs. The antiseptic wipe glides over the area, and you feel the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It’s both grounding and distracting, making it hard to ignore how close you are.
As you shift to clean another spot, your fingers accidentally brush against his skin, and you freeze for a second too long. His smirk grows wider, and you feel heat rush to your face.
“Relax,” he says, his tone teasing but not unkind. “It’s not like I bite.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not the one scrubbing blood off someone else’s abs,” you mutter, hoping the embarrassment doesn’t show too much in your voice. “Cut me some slack.”
He laughs at that, the sound warm and unexpectedly soft. “Fair point. But you’re doing a good job, y’know. Even if you’re blushing like crazy.”
Your hand falters for a second before you quickly regain composure. “You’re impossible,” you mumble, keeping your eyes fixed on the wound instead of his face.
“And you’re fun to mess with,” he replies easily, the grin in his voice unmistakable.
You take a deep breath, trying to steady your hands as you pick up a fresh antiseptic wipe. Baji leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, making it easier for you to reach his face. The cuts aren’t too deep, but the sight of them still tugs at something in your chest. You wonder how many fights he’s been in to look this battered.
“Hold still,” you murmur, your voice softer than usual.
Baji tilts his head slightly, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You ignore his comment and lean closer, the antiseptic wipe gliding over the small cut on his cheekbone. He doesn’t even flinch, though you can feel his eyes on you, watching your every move. It’s unnerving in a way, but you try to focus on the task at hand.
“You’re lucky these aren’t worse,” you say quietly, reaching for another wipe.
“Lucky, huh?” he replies, his tone teasing. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
“Well, it could’ve been worse,” you counter, gently dabbing at a bruise near his jaw. “Next time, try not to pick a fight with someone who’s clearly out to break your face.”
He chuckles at that, the sound low and rough but not unkind. “Noted.”
As you shift closer to reach a scrape near his temple, you realize how close you are. His dark eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you forget what you were doing. The smirk on his lips is gone, replaced by something quieter, more serious, and it makes your pulse quicken.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now.
You blink, snapping yourself out of it. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply quickly, turning your attention back to the cut. “Just… stop staring. It’s distracting.”
He grins again, the teasing edge back in his tone. “Distracting, huh? Didn’t know I had that effect on you.”
“You don’t,” you lie, your cheeks heating up as you focus intently on the wound.
“Sure,” he says, drawing out the word, clearly unconvinced.
You roll your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you carefully clean the last cut, making sure to be as gentle as possible.
“There,” you say, sitting back and closing the first-aid kit. “That should do it. Try not to mess it up.”
“Mess it up? Me?” He gives you a lopsided grin, leaning back against the couch. “I’ll have you know I’m great at taking care of myself.”
You snort, crossing your arms. “Right. That’s why you showed up on my doorstep looking like this.”
“Touché,” he admits with a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I owe you one, huh?”
“Just try to stay out of trouble,” you say, shaking your head. But despite your words, you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Something about him, even bruised and battered, makes it impossible to stay mad.
After finishing with Baji’s wounds, you gather the scattered antiseptic wipes and first-aid supplies and take them back to the bathroom. Once everything is neatly put away, you head back to the kitchen, letting out a soft sigh as you try to shake off the lingering warmth in your chest from the way he’d looked at you.
The savory aroma of the casserole greets you the moment you step into the kitchen, and you can’t help but smile. Cooking had always been a grounding activity for you, something that kept your mind focused when things felt chaotic. And tonight, with everything going on, it was exactly what you needed.
You open the oven, carefully pulling the dish out just enough to peek at the bubbling top layer. The cheese has melted perfectly, forming a golden crust that looks as good as it smells. Satisfied, you push the casserole back in to finish cooking for a few more minutes and set the timer on your phone.
Grabbing a dish towel, you lean against the counter and glance toward the hallway. It’s quiet now, save for the faint creak of the floorboards from the guest room. You wonder what Baji’s thinking about, if he’s okay now that he’s cleaned up and has a moment to breathe. The thought of him just showing up on your doorstep, bruised and needing a place to stay, still feels surreal.
Shaking your head, you decide to distract yourself by tidying up the counters. As you work, you can’t help but replay the moment he’d smirked at you while you cleaned the cut on his cheek. That teasing glint in his eyes, the low chuckle that sent a shiver up your spine—no, stop. Focus on dinner.
You glance at the clock and start setting the table for two, pulling out plates and utensils, hoping the act will give your thoughts something else to latch onto. “He’s probably starving,” you mutter to yourself as you grab a serving spoon.
The timer goes off, pulling you out of your spiral. You grab your oven mitts, open the door, and carefully pull the casserole out. The golden crust glistens, the smell even richer now, and for a moment, you feel a flicker of pride. At least you could give him a proper meal tonight.
As you’re placing the casserole dish on the counter to cool, you hear the soft creak of floorboards behind you. Turning your head, you see Baji stepping into the kitchen, his damp hair falling messily around his face. He’s wearing a plain shirt now, one that seems a little too loose on his frame, and his hands are stuffed into his pockets.
“The hell is that smell?” he asks, his voice laced with surprise but lacking his usual sharpness. He steps closer, sniffing the air, and his eyes land on the casserole dish. “Did you seriously make that?”
“Yeah,” you reply, brushing your hands off on a kitchen towel. “Thought you might be hungry, so… casserole.”
He looks at the dish like he’s trying to figure it out. “Smells amazing,” he finally mutters, leaning against the doorway. For a moment, he just stands there, his posture more relaxed than usual. “Didn’t expect you to go all out or anything. Just figured I’d grab something quick.”
“Well, you showed up here half-dead,” you reply lightly, crossing your arms. “The least I can do is feed you properly.”
Baji huffs, something close to a laugh, and scratches the back of his neck. “Guess I can’t argue with that.” His eyes flick to the table you’ve set, then back to the dish. “You really didn’t have to, though.”
“I know,” you say, moving to grab a couple of plates. “But I wanted to.”