Silver Crest

The man on the couch

Chara's POV

The man I hit is still sprawled out on the couch, his chest rising and falling steadily. Gran said he's fine-just exhausted from whatever ordeal he went through before I bumped into him, literally. We decided to leave him there, though the couch is going to need a thorough cleaning or maybe even replacing after all this. It's not every day you bring a half-dead man into your living room. His clothes were soaked through, dirty, and torn, but that wasn't even the strangest part. He had no ID, nothing to tell us who he is or where he came from. It's like he just appeared out of nowhere, dropped into our lives by some twist of fate.

I sighed, my eyes lingering on him as I leaned over to check his wounds once more. I remembered how badly he was hurt-bruises, cuts, maybe even a broken bone or two. But now, as I carefully lift the edge of the blanket covering him, my breath catches. His wounds-they're gone. Not just healing, but completely gone, as if they were never there. The skin where there had been gashes and bruises is now smooth, unmarred. I blink, my heart skipping a beat. This doesn't make any sense.

"Hey, Gran... his wounds are gone," I call out, trying to keep my voice steady.

Gran walks over to me, wiping her hands on a dishtowel as she peers down at the man. "Hmm... okay," she says nonchalantly, as if disappearing wounds are just another quirk of everyday life. Without missing a beat, she turns back to the kitchen and starts making breakfast, as if we didn't just witness something extraordinary.

I'm still staring at the man in disbelief when I see his eyelids flutter. He's waking up. I stumble backward, startled, nearly tripping over my own feet. His eyes slowly open, and when they lock onto mine, a warmth spreads through me, settling somewhere deep in my chest. There's something about him that feels... right. It's a strange thought, and I quickly shake it off. Maybe it's just the relief of seeing him awake, alive.

Before I can say anything, Gran bustles over with a plate of food, cutting through the thick silence. "Come on, I made breakfast! You need to build up your strength, mister," she says cheerfully, setting the plate down in front of him.

I move to help him sit up, and as my hand brushes against his arm, a sharp jolt of electricity shoots through me, making me gasp. It's not just static-it feels deeper, more intense, like a spark that ignites something inside me. I look at him, wondering if he felt it too, but his face gives nothing away. Maybe I'm just imagining things. Ignoring the strange sensation, I carefully help him to his feet and guide him to the chair by the kitchen counter.

Gran places the plate in front of him and gives him an expectant look. "So, can you tell us your name?" she asks, her voice gentle but probing.

For a moment, he seems to hesitate, as if searching for the right words. Then he finally speaks, his voice hoarse and low. "Cole."

Gran raises an eyebrow, giving me a sideways glance. "Damn, Chara, we've got a talker here," she says with a teasing grin, rolling her eyes in exaggerated exasperation.

I can't help but laugh, the tension in the room easing slightly. "Cole, I'm so sorry I ran you over," I say earnestly, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I didn't see you. It was raining so hard, and the mist was so thick... I'm just glad you're okay."

He looks at me, and for a split second, I see something flicker in his eyes-something dark, haunted. But it's gone just as quickly, replaced by a calm, almost indifferent expression. "It's not your fault," he replies, his voice steady. "I shouldn't have been out there in the first place."

There's a heaviness in his words, something that makes me want to ask more, to understand what he's not saying. But I hold back, sensing that now isn't the time. Instead, I focus on making him comfortable, helping him with his food, trying to distract myself from the unspoken questions swirling in my mind.

As Cole eats, I find myself studying him, trying to piece together the mystery that walked into my life. Who is he, really? How did he heal so fast? And why, despite everything, do I feel this strange connection to him? It's like there's a thread binding us together, something I can't quite explain but can't ignore either.

Gran, ever practical, chats with Cole as if he's just another guest at our breakfast table, asking him about where he's from, what he does, how he ended up on that highway in the middle of a storm. He answers her questions politely, but his responses are vague, almost as if he's hiding something. Or maybe he just doesn't remember.

But then there's that moment, that flicker in his eyes when he looked at me. It was brief, but I saw it-a glimpse of something deeper, something more. Whatever secrets he's holding, they're buried deep, and I get the feeling they won't be uncovered easily.

As I clean up the kitchen, I catch myself glancing at him, wondering what happens next. He's a stranger, yet I feel responsible for him, drawn to him in a way that doesn't make sense. Maybe it's just the shock of the accident, the adrenaline still coursing through me. Or maybe... maybe it's something more.