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It was Friday evening when Ken returned from the taekwondo center, hair damp with sweat and a gym bag slung across his shoulder. He pushed open the door to the condo, kicked off his shoes, and sighed.
Silence.
That was rare.
Usually, Arashi would be sprawled on the couch by now, TV blaring some racing game or rock music echoing through the walls. But tonight, the lights were dim. The air felt… still.
Ken furrowed his brows. "Arashi?"
No answer.
Ken dropped his bag and peeked into the living room.
Empty.
Then a sudden clatter came from the bathroom.
Ken rushed over—and froze at the sight.
Arashi stood shirtless, leaning over the sink, one hand gripping the edge while the other wiped at a bleeding scrape on his side. His helmet lay discarded on the floor, jacket crumpled next to it. His lip was slightly split, and a reddish bruise was blooming on his shoulder.
"…What the hell happened to you?" Ken asked, voice low.
Arashi looked up slowly. His eyes flickered to Ken—no teasing smirk this time, just a tired look.
"Some drunk guy outside the bar started a fight. I was closing early. He had a bottle. I had fists."
Ken stepped forward. "You fought him? Are you a caveman?!"
"He was threatening the waitress. What, you think I'd just watch?"
Ken scowled but grabbed the first-aid box from the shelf and pulled Arashi by the wrist.
"Sit. I'll clean it."
Arashi raised an eyebrow. "Look at you, getting all worried."
"I'm not worried. I just don't want you dying on my bathroom floor."
"Touching."
Ken shoved him onto the closed toilet seat and knelt down.
The cut on Arashi's side wasn't deep, but it stung. Ken wiped it gently with disinfectant, brows furrowed.
Arashi hissed. "Ow—gentler, Princess."
Ken slapped a cotton pad to his bruise a little harder than necessary.
"I warned you."
They fell into silence for a moment. Ken focused on the wound, the soft rise and fall of Arashi's chest, the slight tremble in his arm. Up close like this, he noticed things he hadn't before—how long Arashi's eyelashes were, the faint scar on his collarbone, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly when Ken touched a sore spot.
"You could've been really hurt," Ken said quietly.
Arashi blinked.
Ken wasn't yelling anymore. Just… speaking.
Genuinely.
"I'm not stupid," Arashi replied.
"I didn't say you were stupid. I said you could've been hurt."
Their eyes met.
It lingered.
Just long enough.
Ken pulled back abruptly and slapped a bandage on the wound.
"There. All done."
Arashi exhaled. "You're good at this. What are you, a secret nurse?"
"I used to take care of my dad's injuries when he trained with me."
A pause.
"…Right. Your dad."
Ken stood up, putting away the kit. He didn't speak for a while, then softly added, "Don't get into unnecessary fights."
Arashi looked at him.
For the first time in years, Ken wasn't yelling or throwing a pillow at his face. His back was turned, but his voice… it had softened.
"…Fine," Arashi mumbled.
Ken turned around, stunned. "Did you just—agree?"
"Don't get used to it."
Ken smiled, just a little. "Noted."
As he left the bathroom, Arashi remained seated, staring at the door.
Something had shifted.
Nothing major.
Just a flicker.
But it was enough to stay with him the rest of the night.
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