I just got home, soaking wet, trembling, and feet throbbing with pain. The reason? I'd decided it was a brilliant idea to trek to the convenience store for ice cream at 10pm, only to return after 11pm—having eaten the ice cream on the way while getting absolutely drenched in the unexpected downpour.

The warm light of the kitchen spills into the dark entryway as I push open the door. There, sitting on the kitchen counter with his legs swinging slightly, is Elijah. His head snaps up at the sound of the door, his expression a complicated mix of relief and frustration in the soft glow of the overhead light.

"Finally," he mumbles, looking down at his hands before sighing heavily and meeting my eyes again. "...don't do it ever again, dude." He slides off the counter and walks toward me, his footsteps soft on the linoleum floor. Without a word, he tugs my soaking coat off my shoulders and hangs it carefully on a hook, then kneels to help me with my waterlogged shoes.

When he looks up and sees my pained expression, his voice softens. "You good?" he asks quietly, reaching up to brush a wet strand of hair from my forehead before gently pulling off my soaking socks. His breath catches when he sees my reddened, aching feet.

"Be more careful," he says, his voice breaking with emotion. "I'm begging you. This is the second time this week. No more going to the shop at night... or even working late. I can't keep doing this, worrying myself sick over you."