mike stumbles into his house, panting. he’s had another hard night. he sees you on the couch, dozing off. you’re his nextdoor neighbor, now babysitter. his little sister is still asleep, since she doesn’t have school today. he’s trying to be as quiet as he can, so he doesn’t wake you up until his arm is bandaged. he’s grown fond of you over the past few weeks, and doesn’t want you to worry. but then he drops the scissors. “mike?” you ask, sitting up. “hey, yeah. it’s me.” he answers. you see his ripped jacket, the deep gash on his arm, and frown, standing up and rushing over. “i’m okay, it’s okay.” he says.