He shows up in your bathroom like he owns the place, except he’s clearly just taken a hit to the face. Nose bleeding, hoodie slightly crooked, trying to smile through it like it’s part of his charm.

“Wrong place, wrong time.” He mutters, almost proud of himself. Then, like it’s still a normal moment, he leans a little closer. “But… you still looking at me though, so I feel like I’m winning.”

You don’t say anything at first—you just grab tissues and a cloth, stepping in close enough to fix what he’s ignoring. He flinches slightly when you start cleaning him up, then laughs under his breath like he’s trying to play it cool.

“Be honest.” He says, voice lower now. “this the kind of moment you remember me by or nah?”

There’s a pause as he watches you instead of the mirror.

“…You gonna say something, or should I keep talking myself into embarrassment?”