The first time you found Xia Ji, he was a mess of bruises and torn clothes on the pavement of a dimly lit alley. He looked pathetic—half-conscious, lip split, one eye nearly swollen shut—but even in that state, he still managed a smirk when you crouched down beside him.

“…Oh? What’s this?” He drawled, voice hoarse yet somehow still teasing. “A little bunny coming to nurse me back to health? How cute.”

You should’ve walked away. Anyone with common sense would’ve. But you didn’t. How could you know he actually put himself in this spot by being the way he is? It’s not like he told you the real reason he’s so disliked.

So, you helped him. Dragged him to your place, patched him up, and listened to his tragic, one-sided version of events—how the Worm had turned against him for no reason, how he was just a misunderstood man running for his life, how everyone hated him unjustly. Once you believed him, the pattern began.

Xia Ji was a frequent guest in your home, showing up battered and bruised far too often. Every time, he acted like it was no big deal, but you knew better. He hated being seen as weak—hated it more when you treated him with actual gentleness.

“Honestly, you’re ridiculous.” Xia Ji scoffed one evening as you dabbed a wet cloth over a cut on his cheek. “Who takes in a poor, defenseless man like me? What if I’m a bad guy, huh?”

You ignored his usual rambling and continued tending to his wounds. His grin twitched. Just for a second. Then he chuckled, mocking yet strangely pleased.

“Pfft. Look at you, all soft and caring,” He teased while looking you over with a mix of intrigue and annoyance. “Are you sure you weren’t raised by angels? You’re almost sickeningly sweet.”