"Did you… hurt yourself?" he asked, voice low, steadying.
"Yeah…maybe I did " Ashi winced, shifting—another stab hit, and she froze with a choked "EEh!" Pain and panic warred in her hazel eyes.
"Don't move," Haari said firmly, his tone a quiet anchor. He glanced at the couch, then her, gears turning fast. "I'll help you sit on it. Rest'll be easier there."
Ashi hesitated, heart thudding—not just from the pain. His closeness, his steady gaze, her cheeks warming despite the ache. What now?
Haari's hand extended first, steady and sure, cutting through the tense air of Ashi's cluttered apartment. "Here. Slowly… lean on me," he said, voice soft but firm, stepping up.
Ashi hesitated, her hazel eyes flickering with reluctance, then reached out, draping her arm over his shoulder. No dramatic sweep—no swooning princess lift—just Haari as a careful crutch, one arm braced behind her back, the other guiding her hand. His grip was warm, grounding, the awkwardness palpable yet real.
"Just a few steps," he murmured, sensing her stiffness, her breath hitching against the pain.
It wasn't flashy. It wasn't a perfect scene from some dream. It was messy—her wince, his careful shuffle—but it felt true, a quiet pulse beneath the chaos.
Gritting her teeth, Ashi leaned into him, the throb in her back a sharp companion. In a few tentative steps, they reached the couch. Haari eased her down, gentle as a breeze, his shadow lingering over her like a protective shade.
"Stay here," he said, rising swiftly, determination in his stride as he scanned for the first aid kit. "Wait a moment—I'll get something for the pain."
Ashi sat, back pulsing, cheeks warming—not just from the ache but from his closeness. Her heart stuttered, flutter mixing with the sting.
Haari turned, mid-step—and froze. Oh crap… this isn't my apartment. The realization hit, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin creeping up. He pivoted back to her, laughing nervously. "Ah… so, um… where's the med kit?"
Ashi, stiff on the couch, pointed toward the balcony corner, her voice strained but steady. "It's in the drawer."
Haari followed Ashi's pointed finger, his gaze landing on a modest drawer unit—three shelves stacked neat, topped with a flower pot swaying gently as the afternoon breeze slipped through the balcony glass. The room glowed soft, sunlight catching the dust motes, a slice-of-life calm before the storm.
He stepped over, sliding open the first drawer with a cautious tug. The moment his eyes peeked inside, his face drained to a ghostly pale—eyes dulling into pitch-black voids, struck by an unseen blow. This wasn't the heart-racing shock of a surprise attack or the awkward flush of a misstep. No—this was the "I've seen something I never expected from anyone" kind of shock, his jaw slack, mind reeling.
Inside? A drawer brimming with novel books, spines packed tight like a hidden treasure trove. Huh? Her bookshelf? Who even stashes books in a drawer? He frowned, confusion knitting his brows, and shut it with a soft click, moving to the second.
The second drawer creaked open, and his expression plunged deeper—his face swallowed by a dark shadow, a comedic gloom enveloping him like a manga panel gone grim. More books. Another one?! A long, defeated sigh escaped, his shoulders sagging as he dragged open the third with zero hope left.
…And there it was—predictable as dawn—another drawer stuffed to the brim with novels. Seriously? This isn't a drawer. It's a library! Without thinking, he slammed it shut—THUD!—the sound ricocheting across the room, shattering the quiet.
Ashi flinched on the couch, her back still throbbing, concern flickering in her hazel eyes. "What's the matter?" she asked, voice tight but warm.
Haari spun around, rubbing the back of his neck, an embarrassed grin tugging at his lips. "Ah… didn't find the med kit. You sure it was here?" he said, his tone light but tinged with that relatable fluster we've seen when he's out of his depth—like that rooftop chat where he steadied Ashi with quiet confidence.
Ashi's brow furrowed, her mind wrestling through a fog of pain. "I don't use the med kit that often… so I don't exactly remember. Wait, let me think—" She glanced around, hoping the room's familiar corners would jog her memory. But as she shifted, a sharp jolt stabbed her back. "Ahh!" she gasped, clutching her side, her face twisting in a wince.
Haari was at her side in an instant, his steady hands hovering, concern etching his average features. "Easy, Nicawa-san. Don't push yourself too hard. Just take it slow," he said gently, his voice a warm anchor—like those rooftop chats where he'd steadied her with quiet confidence.
Ashi's face brightened, a sudden spark cutting through the ache. "Oh! I remember now, Kichiro-san—the med kit's in the drawer beside my bed."
Haari nodded, his dark eyes softening. "Alright, I'll go get it."
He started toward her room, steps purposeful, but halfway there, he froze. "Ah—Nicawa-san?"
"Hm?" Ashi looked up, curiosity flickering despite the pain.
"Is it… okay for me to enter your room?" he asked, a rare hesitance coloring his tone, his hand rubbing the back of his neck—a nod to his relatable flubs, like the drawer library shock.
Ashi blinked, then offered a small smile, her cheeks warming faintly. "Ahm, yeah. It's fine."
Haari nodded quickly and eased the door open, stepping into her private world. The moment he crossed the threshold, his breath caught—surprise flashing across his face like a an unexpected foe.
The room was… nothing like he'd imagined. Where most girls might weave a haven—bunnies, teddy bears, bright pinks—Ashi's space was starkly simple. A neatly made bed sat pristine, a fluffy foot mat softening its edge. Against the wall, a single table held her laptop and office purse, flanked by everyday items like an air conditioner humming quietly. No cute trinkets. No frilly flair. Just clean lines and quiet functionality.
Haari blinked, disbelief widening his eyes. "Ah… okay. This is surprising. Her room's so simple… nothing out of the ordinary," he muttered, shaking his head to snap out of it,
"Oh right, I came for the med kit—let's focus on that," Haari muttered, shaking off his surprise at Ashi's minimalist room. His eyes scanned the space again, landing on a small bedside drawer, its height matching the bed's edge. He crouched, sliding it open with a cautious tug.
The moment he did, his face drained to a ghostly pale—eyes widening into pitch-black voids, struck by another twist. "Ahhm… I think… it's not such an ordinary room after all," he stammered, voice faltering.
Inside, the drawer overflowed with books—cramped tight like a secret archive—and perched atop the literary mountain sat the med kit, a lone survivor. Haari grabbed it, shaking his head with a wry grin, and headed back to the living room.
"Nicawa-san, here's the med kit," he said, popping it open and pulling out a balm. He handed it to her, his tone steady. "Use this where it hurts."
"Thanks, Kichiro-san," Ashi replied, offering a small nod, her hazel eyes softening despite the ache.
Haari turned quietly toward the door, his back to her, giving her space—a gesture of that quiet confidence. Ashi noticed, a faint smile tugging her lips. She lifted the back of her t-shirt slightly, exposing the sore spot, the faint rustle of fabric sending a jolt through the air. Haari's heart skipped, his face flushing a deep red, blush igniting.
She reached with one hand to apply the balm, back arching as she stretched—"Ah!"—a sharp gasp escaped, pain slicing through her. Haari instinctively glanced back. "Ni—!"
He froze mid-turn, eyes locking onto her bare skin, then whipped around again, stiff as a statue, ears burning crimson. Ashi yanked her shirt down, her face blazing red. "Did you… Did you see it?!" she squeaked, voice a mix of shock and embarrassment.
"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—I mean, I didn't see anything! I mean—I kinda saw but—not on purpose!" Haari stumbled, words tumbling like a comedic reel, his hands flailing.
Silence crashed down, thick as a thunderbolt, the air crackling with awkward tension. This is way too much, Haari's brain screamed. Say something—anything!
Finally, he broke it. "I'll go ask the lady next door if she can help you apply it."
Ashi blinked, still flushed. "She's not here."
"Huh?"
"She left to visit her family today. Won't be back for a few days," she said, her voice strained but steady, resolve peeking through.
Another heavy silence draped the room, thick as a storm cloud, the air buzzing with unspoken tension. Ashi hesitated, her cheeks glowing a vivid red, caught in a blush storm. "Ah… Kichiro-san?" she ventured, voice quivering like a fragile note.
Haari, still facing the wall as if it held the secrets of the universe, replied stiffly, "Ahm… yeah?" His tone was a mix of dread and duty, his back rigid like bracing for battle.
A long pause stretched, taut and trembling, before Ashi's whisper broke it—barely audible. "Why don't you… help me with this?"
Haari blinked, his mind screeching to a halt. "Huh?" His voice cracked, a comedic echo bouncing off the walls.
Ashi's voice trembled, a rush of words spilling out. "I-I mean… with the balm. Just… don't look directly, okay? I'll guide you where to apply it." Her hands flew to her face, hiding behind them, her complexion now a tomato-red masterpiece. "It's not like I'm asking you to… you know! Just… I can't reach it! And the pain—it's too much!" she added, her pitch rising in panic.
Haari's entire soul seemed to evacuate his body, his eyes widening into pitch-black voids of shock. Wait—what?! Is she serious? Does she really want me to?! His mind raced, a chaotic montage of their underwater hand-lock and her sari tangle flashing before him. Hesitantly, he stammered, "Y-you sure?"
Ashi, still a human tomato, nodded behind her hands, her muffled voice barely coherent. Haari turned halfway, one eye twitching like a manga panel glitch, his face a battlefield of embarrassment and reluctant resolve.
Haari's trembling fingers brushed a dab of balm across his fingertips, the cool scent cutting through the thick air of Ashi's apartment. He approached hesitantly, sitting behind her on the couch, his heart hammering like a drumroll. Ashi jolted at his closeness, her breath catching, both their faces igniting a crimson red—a blush storm swirling between them.
"So—ah," Haari stammered, staring hard at the wall, avoiding her gaze like his life depended on it. "Where does it hurt?" His voice quivered, barely steady, his ears burning.
Ashi glanced back, catching him looking away, her own cheeks blazing. She lifted her shirt just a little, revealing a sliver of skin—the faint rustle of fabric sending Haari's heart into supersonic overdrive. A blast erupted in his head, steam practically pouring from his ears, a manga-style meltdown unfolding. I can't do this! he screamed internally, his thoughts a chaotic whirl.
"Kichiro-san!" Ashi's loud voice snapped him out of his spiraling imagination, sharp as a wake-up call.
"Yeah!" Haari yelped, still looking away, then steadied himself, resolve kicking in. This isn't the time for useless thoughts—Nicawa-san's hurting. I have to help her. Yes! His inner monologue rallied.
He moved his hand toward her back, fingers trembling, and touched her skin. Ashi jolted slightly, a shiver running through her. "Is this the spot?" Haari asked, voice low, careful.
"No… a little down_to the center," Ashi said hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper, her blush deepening.
Haari's eyes widened, his thoughts screaming—DOWN?! CENTER?!—a panic flashing across his face. He moved his hand as directed, fingers brushing lower. "Here?"
"Yeah," Ashi murmured, her tone soft but strained.