4- If being handsome was a crime, you’d be guilty as charged.

“You said you don’t remember what happened to you. Why do I get the impression that’s a lie?” I ask pointedly. Lukas sighs, then winces, clutching his ribs. Yeah, that looks painful. I’d feel more sympathetic if I hadn’t just spent hours answering awkward questions in the emergency room. I’m pretty sure at least one of the nurses thought I’d hit him with my car. Honestly, I wish that were the case, at least then I’d have had the satisfaction. Okay, that’s a lie. I wouldn’t actually hit him with my car. But that doesn’t mean I can’t daydream about it a little.

“Seriously,” I press.

“I know you’re feeling crappy right now, but I think I deserve an explanation, especially if I’m throwing away a sick day to play nurse for the next 24 hours.” Lukas gives me a pained nod.

“You’re right. I get it. It’s just… unpleasant.” He starts telling me about his evening, recounting everything up to the point where he passed out in the parking lot. I sit quietly, listening. When he finishes, I let out a low whistle.

“Wow. And I thought my family was overbearing. You could have your own reality show,” I remark. He just stares at me. I shrug.

“What? I’m just saying.” He’s quiet for a minute so I keep talking.

“So… I guess that explains why you can’t go home. I assume your parents know where you live. Bet you wish you’d done what I did and never shared your address,” I joke. He raises an eyebrow.

“You haven’t told your family where you live?” He asks incredulously. I shrug again.

“My family doesn’t do boundaries. It was the easiest way to ensure privacy. And not my whole family, my favourite cousin has my address, you know, for emergencies.” I clarify.

“Right,” Lukas replies, his tone heavy with disbelief.

“So… I know I’m not really in a position to ask for more favours. I mean, you probably saved my life and-”

“Probably?” I cut him off, raising an eyebrow.

“I definitely saved your life. I bet there are cameras somewhere I could steal footage from, you know, for evidence the next time you decide to act like an asshole.” I comment.

“Great,” he replies dryly.

“Now, about that favour-”

“Oh, we’re not done,” I interrupt, still on a roll.

“What is your problem, anyway? What made you think, ‘Oh, I’ll insult this random woman’s outfit and invade her privacy, just because I can’? You think just because you look like that, you can do whatever you want with this part of your face?” I wave vaguely at his mouth. Lukas blinks at me, stunned.

“Wait… are you insulting me or complimenting me? I’m not sure.” I glare. Oops, I got a little carried away there.

“Right,” he says cautiously.

“Well, regardless. I need to ask a favor. Can I stay at your place, just until I don’t need a babysitter anymore?” He asks, his expression wary but hopeful.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I say, incredulously. Lukas doesn’t flinch. He just waits, his expression dead serious. Apparently he is not kidding.

“Surely you have a better option than crashing on my couch. A hotel, maybe? Something? Anything!” I say desperately. He shakes his head. “

I don’t know where my wallet is. I think I dropped it during… The tussle with my family. I can call my bank in the morning to try and sort it out, but it’s the middle of the night.” He unhelpfully tells me, like I could somehow forget that it’s the middle of the damn night. Ugh! I groan, dropping my forehead onto the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding the horn. I rack my brain, trying to think of another option. Any other option. Damn it. I hate being a nice person. I don’t want to help him. I don’t want to babysit this insufferable jerk. And I definitely don’t want to let him into my home. But the thought of sending him off on his own, injured, exhausted, and broke… Well that makes my stomach turn in a different kind of way. This is officially the Worst. Day. Ever.

I pull up in front of my apartment, cut the engine, and let out a dramatic sigh.

“You don’t need to act like this is the end of the world,” Lukas says from the passenger seat.

“Is it really so bad having me crash on your couch for a little while?” I roll my eyes.

“If you hated my outfit, you’re really, really going to hate my apartment.” Lukas raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t hate your outfit. At the time, I didn’t think it was work appropriate. You corrected me, and I adjusted accordingly. None of that means I didn’t like the outfit.” I shoot him a look. “Semantics.” He doesn’t answer, and I spend another minute procrastinating before finally groaning and getting out of the car.

“Ugh, fine. Come on, let’s go.” We head upstairs, Lukas trailing behind me. At the door, I pause, turning to face him with my hands on my hips.

“Not. A. Word. You hear me?” I say threateningly. He nods silently, though his curiosity is obvious. I unlock the door and let him in. Lukas steps inside and glances around, his expression unreadable.

“It’s... colourful…” He finally says, and I narrow my eyes in warning. Don’t push it. To his credit, he snaps his mouth shut.

He’s not wrong. My apartment is very colourful. The walls are covered in cute and funny posters and artwork. My couches are draped in bright blankets and pillows. The coffee table is a vibrant purple and scattered with half melted candles. And let’s not forget my favourite ever present fairy lights. My home is the kind of place that either fascinates you or makes you feel like you need a nap to recover from the sensory overload.

“You can rest on the couch,” I say, gesturing toward it.

“There are blankets and pillows already there. I don’t really have anything fancy for guests.” Lukas just nods and sits down on the colorful couch. “That’s fine. I appreciate what you’re doing,” he says, his tone surprisingly sincere. I glare at him. I don’t want him to appreciate me. I want him to disappear.

“Bathroom’s on the left, my room’s on the right, don’t go in my room. Kitchen’s through there,” I say, pointing to the respective doors.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to pass out for the next three or so hours. Then I’ll come back and make sure you haven’t died in your sleep or whatever.” I grumble.

“Right,” he agrees easily. I frown. Why does he keep agreeing with me? It’s weird. It doesn’t match the mental image I’ve built of him, and I don’t want to change it. I’m perfectly happy judging him and staying mad at him, thank you very much. Without another word, I spin on my heel and march to my room, closing the door firmly behind me. I kick off my shoes, and without even bothering to change, I collapse into my bed, I close my eyes. Sleep is so close I can practically taste it. I start to drift off.

And then Lukas screams.

Shit.