Meeting someone through injury or physical mishap was such a weird trope before Jongin experienced it himself.

He’s chatting with a professor after class about a paper he’s working on, and they got on well enough that their conversation swims along a stream of vaguely related topics until Jongin notices the time. He wants to put some time in at the gym before dinner and tackling his homework. While the student facilities are open late, they get remarkably busy in the evening. Jongin prefers less of an audience.

“I gotta go; I’ll see you later!”

The cavernous lecture room is empty and echoes their goodbyes. His professor heads for a door at the far end, which leads into an adjoining storage room. Jongin could go up the stairs between the tiered seating but chooses the doors on the floor level.

Jongin shoves the door open, forgetting it’s no longer as sticky as it used to be, after lots of complaints from students and staff, and he falls off-balance as it swings open. It abruptly stops with a cracking thud, bouncing back and whacking against Jongin’s shoulder. He catches it and hears a sharp moan.

Someone had been walking when Jongin opened the door. Judging by the covered face, they did not react in time to catch it with their hands.

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” He knows it’s a dumb question, and the blood dribbling down their arms and dripping from their elbows proves it. “Take this!” Jongin shoves his sweatshirt under their arms, and they gingerly maneuver it over their face. “Lean forward.” Taking their arm and back, Jongin guides them to the nearest restroom and rips a handful of paper towels from the holder. He opens the tap and soaks the towels in water. It takes a long time to heat up; this is one of the few times he’s grateful.

“Let me see…” Throughout taking a door to the face and then bleeding into Jongin’s clothes, his poor victim has been rather quiet, although speaking through a bloody nose is difficult. He gingerly lowers the sweatshirt when Jongin touches his arms, and Jongin’s heart drops.

It’s Chanyeol. They met through friends and kinda sorta flirted—their friends said they flirted, anyway; Jongin thinks he’s just being nice. A kinda sorta date suggested they’d be good together, but Jongin may have just closed the door on that chance.

Irony.

“Sorry about this, Chanyeol hyung.” Chanyeol’s nose is still bleeding; he holds the sweatshirt under his chin while Jongin tries to clean the blood from around his nose and mouth. “I don’t think it’s broken…”

“Ah, goob.” Chanyeol speaks into the sweatshirt. “I wub wuuied.” He gestures vaguely to his face. “Muh bread an budduh.”

“Should we go to the ER?” He’s a sports medicine student, not a doctor. “There is swelling and bruising, which could hide a fracture...” Chanyeol lifts a hand and lets it drop in a no worries gesture.

Dirty towels pile up in the sink with wet splats. Jongin runs the water as cold as he can and makes cold compresses, folding Chanyeol’s hands and his sweatshirt back over his nose. “You don’t have class, right?” Chanyeol shakes his head, but it’s very unlikely he would’ve gone, anyway. He isn’t that dedicated.

“I can take you home, if you want. You should really get ice on it.”

Chanyeol carefully holds the shirt with one hand and pats his pockets, producing car keys. Jongin clears the dirty towels from the sink and leaves Chanyeol on the front steps. Living off campus, he parks in the general parking lot. Jongin plays hot-and-cold by hitting the key fob buttons until a Jeep flashes its headlights at him.

As he guides Chanyeol like a bodyguard shielding a diplomat, Jongin again asks, “You’re sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”

Chanyeol flips a thumbs up and blindly feels the edges of the car door to haul himself inside.

Eyeing the university building and parking lot, Jongin does notice some spots of blood and isn’t sure if he’s supposed to clean it up or just tell someone or leave it for the forecasted rain to scrub away later in the afternoon. It should be safe; very few people go around pavement in parking lots or rubbing open wounds on suspicious things.

It’ll be fine.

Jongin rounds the Jeep and climbs into the driver’s seat. After some adjustments, he backs out and heads for the road.

They don’t talk much during the ride. Chanyeol folds in half so any blood will drip on the rubber mats. Every so often, he moans and sighs but otherwise mumbles directions or points to his apartment a few blocks from campus.

A lot of graduate students live there, while undergrads live on campus and contribute to the dampness of the dry campus.

Parking in the closest space to the doors, Jongin again escorts Chanyeol like a cop and a convict. Rather than a jacket over his head, it’s a sweatshirt against the face. A man leaving the building flinches at the sight of them and rushes back to open the door. “Chanyeol, are you alright?” He doesn’t look convinced by the bloodied thumbs up and watches Jongin play guide dog and call the elevator. Even a single flight of stairs is too treacherous.

The room key sits on the same keychain as the car key. Jongin unlocks the door, holds it open, and ushers Chanyeol inside. It’s a simple, two-bedroom apartment. The main door opens into the living area that extends to the eating area and kitchen. Doors to the left lead to bedrooms, a bathroom, and a closet.

Jongin deposits Chanyeol on a lovingly worn sofa and finds ice packs in the freezer, wrapping a gel pack in a dish towel. “Are you still bleeding?”

Cautiously, Chanyeol lowers his saturated dressing, and Jongin peels the warm paper towels away. The bleeding isn’t as heavy as it had been. He sets the ice pack in Chanyeol’s hand. “Do you have decongestant nasal spray?” It seems an odd thing to ask for, but Chanyeol suffers seasonal and animal allergies and has learned to be prepared.

“Bathroom.”

“This can restrict the blood vessels and help stop bleeding,” Jongin says, returning with a small bottle. “Can you?” He offers it hesitatingly. “Or I can. Whatever.” Chanyeol lifts the ice pack and towel, gingerly finding his nostrils and spraying in each twice before passing it back to Jongin’s waiting hand. “Then pinch the soft part shut for a few seconds. Keep the ice on.”

Witnessing the obeyed direction, Jongin returns to the bathroom and washes his hands after the spray to its home. Even his shirt is bloody. No wonder that other tenant looked so nervous.

A nasal whine rifts from the sofa. “Can I lean back, yet?”

“Are you still bleeding?”

Chanyeol releases his nose. Nothing escapes. “Seems like.”

“Then yes.”

Groaning a sigh, Chanyeol sits back and lets his head rest on the back of the sofa. “I’m starving.” He rolls his eyes to look at Jon