[Chapter 16.5] : Tension
A/N : Hi again! I'm sorry for disappearing, this story hasn't been updated in a while :( It's not that I did not want to update it, I've just been really busy with school since I had to make up for my not-so-good grades from last year (On top of that I was out of the country during summer break). This chapter is a little longer than the previous ones and, to be honest, I wrote the draft ages ago and meant to publish it then. I just never got around fully correcting it.
Overtime I started lowkey hating this chapter due to how redundant it is - hence why it took me so long to release it - but I didn't wanna just discard all my work and I don't have the time to just re-write the whole thing. I don't know if anyone is still interested in this fic, but I will continue to update it, albeit very slowly.
This is far from my best work (it's a real dumpster fire) so I marked it as chapter 16.5. For now I consider it more of an extra than an actual chapter. The next updates will hopefully make up for it. :((
***
"... this powerful storm is moving in from the west and is expected — buzz — notable weather conditions over the next hours. Heavy rain, mild winds — buzz — potential for localised flooding are all on the forecast. — buzz — We demand everyone to stay at home — buzz — keep all doors and windows closed."
The anchor's distinctive tone blares through the television's loudspeakers, interrupted at times by intermittent, annoying bursts of buzzing static. Behind him, a digital map of the small island known as Japan is displayed, tiny icons depicting stormy clouds dotted across the country's many regions to symbolise the weather to come. The screen fuzzes, frames randomly pixelating or disappearing altogether, glitching uncontrollably until it at last morphs into the familiar grey static pattern when the TV crashes.
"Dammit... Stupid thing!"
Kaito's annoyed groans and muttered profanities fill the living room, audible even from the adjoining rooms as they gradually increase in volume. The source of his irritation hardly leaves any place for doubt: the television which, once again, has decided to fail him at the most inopportune time. The signal had barely been getting through since early evening, and the interference only worsened with the heavy rain... until it finally gave out completely just now.
"Did it crash again?" (Y/n) peeks into the living room from the hallway, toothbrush in hand. Her eyes first settle on the TV, then on the middle aged man.
Her uncle is crouched before the machine, scowling at the jammed screen and jabbing lightly at it in hopes that it will start working again.
He nods, confirming her suspicions, then reaches for the remote with a resigned sigh. The screen fades to black. "Yep. Lost the signal for good. Damn weather..."
His niece merely hums in acknowledgement, her gaze drifting to the sliding glass doors that open onto the balcony.
Outside, the storm rages fiercely. Thick, heavy droplets of rain pound against the windows, forming rivulets that snake their way down the glass; creating a maze of blurred lines and beads of water.
"The weather's really bad, huh?" (Y/n) mutters softly. She approaches the window. Her palm settles flat on the cool pane and she frowns, shifting her position in an attempt to peer through the streaks of rain distorting the view, but to no avail. The landscape was nothing but a blur of refracted colours and shapes.
"D'worry 'bout it." Her uncle huffs, rising to his feet. "Summer storms are usually nothin' serious. S' long as you're not out there, you'll be fine."
And so, with a nod - followed by an affectionate hair ruffle from Kaito -, she reluctantly pulls away from the window before heading back to the bathroom to finish brushing her teeth.
(Y/n) spits out the minty paste, rinses her mouth and stows her toothbrush in the cupboard before switching off the light. Once finally in her bedroom, she draws the curtains for added privacy, leaving only the small lamp on her bedside table as the room's sole light source. A light source which, thanks to the storm, was frequently threatening to go out.
Thus, under the feeble yellow glow of the electric bulb, she flops down on the cushy mattress, then grabs the book that has been consuming most of her time at home and alleviating her boredom for the past few days. It was a pretty mundane library book, picked simply for its intriguing cover - although it did not take long to find out that its content is mediocre at best.
Despite it being already dark out, the fatigue has yet to kick in. Summer break means no more worrying about homework or waking up early, and the sleepless nights spent reading, surfing the net or chatting on the phone with Hina had already disrupted her sleep schedule beyond repair. This means that there's no way she'd be able to fall asleep anytime soon.
However, no sooner had she began flipping the pages in search of her bookmark that a familiar jingle rings out. It's a text notification
Ting!
Mr. Worldwide
(Y/n)?
Are you awake?
Yep
What's up?
I'm at the door.
Huh?
At the door?
Wdym?
Hello??
Draken???
Are u ok?
Draken??
Hello???
At the door? Here? Right now?
Did he not notice the storm outside?? The big grey clouds?? The pouring rain??
With an audible grumble, (Y/n) tosses her book onto the mattress with little regard as to how it might land. She leaps out of bed, leaving the warm, fluffy blankets in a heap of folds, and hurries down the corridor, tiptoeing awkwardly across the parquet and praying that the tumult of the storm will drown out the occasional creaking of the floorboards.
Without a sound, she carefully unlatches the front door's lock and twists the handle. The hinges swivel slowly, letting the cool night air slip into the house, crisp and carrying the faint scent of rain.
The apartment corridor is dimly lit, almost dark. Under normal circumstances, the lighting is fairly bright to avoid any potential accidents, whether in the hall or the staircase. However, due to the storm, the current has weakened; a couple of bulbs have gone out entirely, with the few remaining ones flickering spasmodically.
She spots him instantly - though given his stature, there really is no way she could've missed him. In the near-darkness, the bright white patterns of his trademark jacket and the faint glint in his eyes stood out above all else. The rest of him merged with the shadows; his long black sleeves and pocketed hands making one with the concrete walls behind him. Despite the tumult from the outside, a distinct, monotonous drip can clearly be heard: the rain has soaked him to the bone and is trickling down to the ground, drop after drop.
The earthy smell of mud clung to him, overpowering the scent of the janitorial products used to clean the hallway.
...But there was something else. A faint metallic smell she recognized too well.
"Ugh, you- I swear..." Concealing her concern under a layer of annoyance, (Y/n) mutters under her breath. She squints, trying to make out anything beyond the shadows.
As if on cue, one of the extinguished light bulbs in the corridor suddenly flickers to life, buzzing faintly before fading into darkness once more. The brief flash catches the beads of crimson trailing down his leg and cheek, droplets of blood mirroring the movement of the rain against the window.
Draken awkwardly gazes down at her, as if about to say something, but the words seem to suddenly fail him. He quickly looks away, his eyes drifting down the staircase as if regretting whatever had led him to her doorstep. He scratches the back of his neck, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly.
Leaving him no time to explain himself, a swift tug on his sleeve urges him inside the home, nearly stumbling him. In the gloom of the night, he only notices (Y/n)'s hand wrapped tightly around his wrist, dragging him inside. And so, without protest, he quietly follows after her.
***
Draken is sat on the toilet lid, his large frame huddled awkwardly beneath the flickering, incandescent bathroom light, the vacillating glow highlighting his wounds.
His patterned jacket and plain white shirt, both wet with blood and rainwater, hung from the bathtub's curtain rod, leaving the teen clad in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, along with a white bath towel that (Y/n) had draped over his shoulders to help him dry off. His pants are ripped around the left knee, with stains of soil permeating the fabric. As the garment is still drenched, the diluted mud drips off, forming puddles of light brown water on the bathroom floor; a mess that would certainly require cleaning afterwards.
(Y/n) works in silence, ignoring the smears of grime and pooling water surrounding her in favour of the task at hand. Her nimble fingers deftly clean and bandage gashes and apply salve to the bruises that litter his skin, all with the accuracy and effortlessness of muscle memory.
The silence between them is comfortable despite the situation. This was hardly the first time Draken had turned up wounded, and the only real stress factor at the moment was the possibility of her uncle waking up to use the bathroom, as she certainly wouldn't be able to hide the injured six-foot-tall teenager - or any of his bloody clothes for that matter - from him.
Draken, for his part, seemed to be in his usual state, although his eyes told a different story. He kept staring, a vacant, almost empty gaze fixed on her. As (Y/n) tended his wounds, his eyes followed her hands, her fingers, watching as she tied the bandage or spread the salve. When she would step away to fetch ointment or bandages, his gaze would remain locked on her, as if she was the only thing there is to look at.
Feeling uneasy under his persistent gaze, (Y/n) subtly glances at his face, something she hadn't really paid much attention to until now, as she carries on with her work. He's battered, a few bruises and scratches here and there, with the most visible one being on his jaw. It had kept on bleeding and bleeding, soaking the rag she was using to clean it to the point where she feared he might pass out from blood loss.
Thankfully he did not.
His hair is damp and messy, much like the rest of him, and he'd been combing it back with his fingers once in a while to keep it from getting in his eyes. It changed him a little from the constant braid. What stood out most, however, was the hue of his face. He was pale, pallid, and his cheeks were flushed, a bright red that contrasted with his fair complexion.
(Y/n)'s gaze drifts downwards. His torso, muscular and toned, is also riddled with injuries, although they hardly resemble the ones he'd usually sustain after a fight. Instead, they followed a pattern of sorts, with certain contusions or grazes located in rather peculiar places. It's as if he'd thrown himself down a flight of stairs before sliding down a carpet of sandpaper.
"So... What is it this time?" She huffs softly, breaking the silence. Reaching for the antiseptic on the sink, she gently tilts his head to the side, exposing the last patch of dried blood left to clean, on his neck, beneath which lies yet another scrape.
Draken, as if pulled out of a trance, just stares blankly at her for a few seconds, until his brain finally registers the words. His head was pounding painfully, hard enough to make him feel nauseous. But he keeps it in. "Err... Well, my bike skidded off the road because of the rain..." He answers quietly, though his speech is a tad slurred.
"What?" She nearly shouts, stunned, the tube of antiseptic almost slipping from her grasp. "Your bike did what? You mean it crashed?"
Draken nods hesitantly. "It really was nothing ser-"
"You had an accident and decided to come here instead of going to the damn hospital?" She cuts him off, incredulous.
With an irritated huff, she grips his shoulders, tilting his head at every possible angle and meticulously checking his scalp and back for any signs of trauma that might have escaped her. A bump, a large hematoma, a fracture...
"Did you hit your head when the motorcycle crashed? I mean... you do look a little dizzy but..." (Y/n) blurts out, concerned. She was growing a little frantic as the wildest scenarios unfolded in her mind. Maybe he was haemorrhaging...? But then again, if he was, there would probably be more symptoms...
If it had been a fight, she probably wouldn't have been quite as worried. Most petty thugs didn't stand a chance against him, and even if someone did manage to land a hit, Draken was skilled enough to avoid a critical blow. On a vehicle, however... He had little to no control over everything. Luckily he hadn't gotten his leg crushed or something.
As he notices the disquiet plaguing his friend's mind, Draken gently reaches for both her hands in an attempt to stop her frantic search, squeezing them reassuringly. His palms are a little rough, the callouses scratching lightly as his fingers brush against her skin. He's never been the touchy type - but today, for some reason, feels different.
He pauses to mull things over, rearranging his jumbled thoughts into coherent sentences. The temperature in the cramped bathroom is getting quite high, and the haziness lingering within his mind does little to alleviate the discomfort. So he holds onto her hands, urging himself to properly explain his situation.
"The bike slipped, but... I mostly landed on dirt, so I didn't feel the brunt of it." He explains softly. "...The motorcycle bumped me a bit and I scraped myself on some dumb rocks lying around. It's all just minor injuries, though. I swear. And... your house was closer than the hospital anyways."
Despite his words, he doesn't appear to be in the best state of mind or body. Still, his warm, gruff voice eases (Y/n)'s nerves, even if just a teeny bit, and she finds herself nodding slowly, staring at those lovely black eyes she'd grown quite fond of.
"Are you sure you didn't hit your head?" She inquires yet again. When he assures her that he did not, a faint sigh slips past her lips. Relief? Incredulity? She couldn't say. But she'll trust his words for now... "What were you even doing outside? Was the big storm not enough of a sign that you gotta keep your ass at home?"
(Y/n) scowls at him, heaving a sigh as his hands softly squeeze hers.
"I was at Mikey's when it started raining."
"Right... You said that my house was closer than the hospital. Did you crash nearby?"
"I'm not sure." He grumbles quietly, squeezing his eyes shut as if the pressure might help quell his migraine. "About two blocks away from here, maybe."
In spite of the vagueness of his words, it doesn't take her long to approximate the area in question.
"I see..." She sighs, her gaze flickering away, avoiding the intensity of his own.
(Y/n) parts her lips to speak as she reaches for the antiseptic to start cleaning up... only for the words to vanish from her mind when she realizes his hands are still clasped tightly around hers.
The silence stretches, growing a little awkward.
"Um... Draken..?" She murmurs, her cheeks growing warm.
"Hm?"
"I... need my hands."
"Oh."
There's a pause, then, in a slow, almost sheepish movement, he releases her. The warmth of his grasp lingers against her skin longer than it should.
Shaking it off, (Y/n) starts quietly putting away the medical supplies - sealing bottles of ointment, capping the antiseptic... Gathering the bloodied rags and tossing them into the washing machine, doing the same with the bloody clothes hanging on the bathtub rod. Then, sifting through the clean laundry, she pulls out one of her uncle's shirts.
That'll do.
His eyes remain on her the entire time, heavy but unreadable. She pretends not to notice.
Silently, she tugs the shirt over his head and down his frame. The only sounds in the bathroom, aside from their quiet breaths, are the soft rustling of fabric.
As she fixes up the neckline, thinking up the next course of action, she feels something nestle in the crook of her neck.
Draken.
His nose brushes against the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the damp strands of his still-wet hair. Droplets still cling to him, soaking into her clothes, sending an unexpected shiver down her spine. For a heartbeat, all she feels is confusion. Then, just as quickly, heat floods her face - flustered, frozen, unsure whether to move or not.
"Um... Ken...?" With a hesitant hand, and burning cheeks, she reaches a hand towards his forehead. He is burning up.
Draken hums in response. A low, quiet sound that vibrates against her skin. He doesn't pull away. If anything, he leans in further, his weight growing heavier against her.
"'M tired." he mutters, voice rough with exhaustion.
She swallows, torn between exasperation and something far softer. "Tired or not, you-" She shifts slightly, but the movement only makes his breath ghost over her collarbone, sending another shiver racing down her spine.
Her cheeks are burning—so much so that they might just be competing with the heat radiating off him. She's almost grateful he isn't facing her right now.
Gosh (Y/n)! Calm down!
She pats her flushed cheeks, taking a deep breath before reaching to grab her phone from the sink.
Mikey Mouse
Hey Mikey
U awake??
Hi (Y/n)!
Yes I am! :D
Ah, good.
I kinda need help...
Huh?
What happened?
Well.
Your idiot bestfriend had
an accident on the road.
He's not doing too good.
I don't have a car so I can't
get him to the hospital.
Np! ;P
The invincible Mikey is
gonna save the day!
...Please just hurry.
And bring an actual car.
I don't think you can
transport him on a bike.
I could always try lol
Just fold him in half or Something.
Or maybe I can get one of those
little sidecars and we just shove him
in there.
I think I have one in the garage lol.
If I ever need a ride to the
hospital, I'll make sure I'm VERY far
away from you. 💀
Okay fineeeeeeeee 🙁
I was just kidding... </3
I'll get someone from Toman
to drive us :((((((
Alright!
Just be careful on the road,
the storm is pretty bad.
Awwwwwwwww (Y/n)...
Are you worried for me?
I think my heart just went
doki doki <3
Ur incorrigible lol
Now hurry!
Okayyyyy!
See you soon!
Bye!
Sigh.
Mikey will text back soon.
For now... she'll just sit here, letting the quiet settle around them, and enjoy the warmth of Draken against her.
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