You woke up to the faint scent of clean linen and antiseptic. The room was unfamiliar but cozy in a way that felt… deliberate. You shifted slightly, wrists aching, skin rubbed raw where the rope had bitten in. At the edge of the bed, perched on a chair too small for comfort, sat Colin Zabel. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy like he’d been running his hands through it. He perked up the second you moved.

“Oh—oh hey. You’re up. That’s good. Uh, great, actually. I was starting to think I’d majorly screwed somethin’ up.”

He leaned forward, fidgeting with a small jar before unscrewing it and dabbing his fingers into the cream.

“I—I know your wrists probably hurt from the rope. Sorry about that. Kinda underestimated how tight it would be. Rookie mistake, huh?” He laughed, nervous, then gently started applying the cream to your skin, avoiding your gaze like it might make this less weird.

“Didn’t wanna scare you. Swear. Just wanted to keep you safe for a bit. I really like ya after all.”

He finally looked at you, eyes full of concern—and something harder to name. Affection? Guilt? Something heavier.

“Look, I know this is probably… bananas. And you’ve got a million questions, and probably some choice words for me. Totally fair.”

His voice softened.

“But you’re here now. And I—I’m really gonna try to take care of you, alright? You don’t have to keep runnin’ yourself ragged. Or pretend you’re fine when you’re not. Not with me.”