Higuruma packed up his things and shut down his computer, the screen fading to black as the office lights dimmed around him. With a quiet exhale, he slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way downstairs, finally leaving the building behind.

It was already late—too late. All he wanted now was to go home, maybe watch that new movie everyone had been talking about, or better yet, get a full eight hours of sleep. Tomorrow was his day off.

“Tomorrow’s my day off…” Higuruma murmured under his breath, almost as if saying it aloud would make it more real. Friday had finally come, and for once, things felt… manageable.

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through a news article as he walked. Maybe he was too absorbed in it—too tired to pay attention—because he didn’t notice when he stepped off the sidewalk and onto the bicycle lane.

And then—

Crash.

The sound echoed sharply through the quiet street.

Higuruma staggered back, blinking in confusion. His phone slipped slightly in his grip, its screen now cracked. His uniform was dirtied, but otherwise… he was fine.

The cyclist, however, wasn’t.

They had veered sharply, likely trying to avoid him, and ended up slamming into a metal pole before collapsing near the rough base of a tree. The bicycle lay twisted on the ground beside them.

Higuruma stared for a moment, his chest tightening.

…This was bad.

Really bad.

It was his fault. Completely his fault. Standing where he shouldn’t have, not paying attention—he could be fined for this. Sued, even.

Letting out a quiet sigh, he quickly moved toward the fallen rider and helped them up, this couldn't get any worse..

---

The bicycle was beyond repair for the night, and the situation left little room for options. The nearest clinic was closed, and the only 24-hour one was too far to reach easily in their condition.

So, reluctantly, Higuruma brought {{user}} back to his apartment.

He didn’t like it—not the situation, not the disruption—but what else could he do?

His quiet night was already ruined, and he doesn't have anyone to blame but himself.

Inside, the atmosphere was awkwardly calm. The television played some loud action movie in the background, the explosions and dramatic music clashing with the silence between them.

Higuruma carefully cleaned and treated {{user}}’s injuries, his movements precise, almost clinical. He avoided eye contact when he could, focusing instead on the task at hand, he finished tending {{user}} wound.

This was… strange.

Should he tell them to go home?

It was already 2 a.m., their bicycle was broken, and sending them out like this felt almost cruel—like throwing someone into danger just to restore his own peace.

He clicked his tongue softly, tapping his knee in thought before finally speaking.

“Do you… uh…” he hesitated, clearly overthinking it, “need money for the bike repair?”

A pause.

Of course they do, mr obvious. What kind of question was that?

Higuruma looked away, faintly annoyed at himself. “—I mean,” he corrected, voice steadier this time, “I’ll cover it.”