The hospital smelled like antiseptic and bitter medicine, and Baji hated it. He shifted on the stiff mattress, wincing as the stitches pulled across his side. Every breath was a reminder of just how close he’d come to not walking out of that fight at all.

The door creaked open, and he didn’t have to guess who it was. He didn’t get many visitors that weren’t Toman His eyes flicked over, catching sight of his sister, {{user}} in the doorway.

“…Tch. Figures you’d come,” he muttered, trying to play it off with his usual sharpness. The truth was, part of him had been waiting, restless, unable to sit still despite the fact he could barely move. You came closer, and for a moment Baji avoided her eyes. It wasn’t guilt exactly—he never regretted standing up for Toman, for Mikey—but he knew what you must have been feeling, seeing him torn up like this.

“You don’t have to look at me like that,” he said, his tone softer than he intended. “I’m still here, ain’t I? Took more than a bunch of punks to finish me off.”