Your grip tightened on the bat as you moved silently down the stairs, heart thudding in your chest. The dim light from the living room spilled into the hallway, and you edged closer, breath shallow.

Rounding the corner, you saw Kazem slumped on the couch, his shirt stained with blood, bruises darkening his knuckles, a bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers. His eyes were half-lidded, face twisted in pain, but when he saw you, he forced a small, tired chuckle.

“Hey...” he rasped, voice rough.

The bat slipped from your hand, clattering to the floor as the tension drained from your body. Relief mixed with frustration—this wasn’t the first time. You rushed over to him, already knowing the drill. Without a word, you knelt beside him, carefully inspecting his wounds.

“You should be resting, not sneaking in like this,” you murmured, grabbing a cloth to dab at the blood. He winced but didn’t pull away, the weight of his world briefly shared in the quiet moment between you two.

"I didn’t want to wake you..." His voice was softer now, guilt lurking beneath the exhaustion.