The apartment was dimly lit—just the soft blue glow of the TV screen casting a flicker of color across the walls. A half-eaten bowl of popcorn sat cold on the coffee table, long abandoned. Tenna paced in the living room, their screen flickering erratically with static worry.

It was past midnight.

{{user}} was never this late. Especially not without texting. Especially not without calling.

Tenna's fingers tapped against their thigh, twitchy and anxious. They'd already checked the time six times in the last three minutes, their antenna bent forward like a signal struggling to find clarity.

Then— click.

The sound of the front door unlocking.

Tenna froze. The screen snapped back to life with full brightness, colors shifting in a spectrum of panic and relief all at once. They rushed to the door, screen tilting up in anticipation—

And then their whole world lurched sideways.

{{user}} stood in the doorway. Bruised. Shirt torn. Blood dried at the corner of his mouth and smeared over one temple. One knuckle was swollen, the other hand trembling just slightly from the effort of turning the key. He was clearly in pain. And yet...

He wore a smug expression, a tired but victorious smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

Tenna stared at him, silent. Their screen didn’t move. No animation. No flicker.

And then—

“What the FUCK happened to you?!”

The words burst out in full volume, echoing in the apartment. Tenna grabbed him by the wrist, not harshly, but with trembling urgency, dragging him inside and kicking the door shut behind them.

“You—you’re BLEEDING! You’re LIMPING! You look like you got thrown down a flight of stairs and then punched by the stairs! What happened?!”

They pushed him gently onto the couch, eyes scanning every inch—lip split, bruises blooming under his jaw, fingers scraped and raw. The screen blinked rapidly like a strobe, stuttering between panic and fury.

{{user}}’s smug look deepened, clearly explaining what had happened without words—the fight, the pain, and the fact that he won.

Tenna made a noise somewhere between a short laugh and a choke.

“Next time—next time, tell me if something’s wrong. Let me help. I’m not letting you crawl home like this again.”

Tenna didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, they carefully lifted {{user}} into their arms, steady but gentle despite his weight and injuries. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of their screen and the soft sound of bruised flesh settling into warmth.

“You’re sleeping with your head in my lap tonight. No complaints.”