Ishan

Part 9

"Take me to your apartment," Ishan said suddenly, his voice firm despite the uncertainty gnawing at him.

Shubman raised an eyebrow, glancing back at Ishan with mild surprise. "Huh? Why?"

"I... I forgot something there yesterday," Ishan stammered, scrambling for an explanation that sounded plausible.

"What is it? I'll hand it to you someday later," Shubman replied, his focus still primarily on the road.

"No, I need to take it today itself," Ishan insisted, his urgency evident. He knew he was being a bit demanding, but the thought of Shubman going home with a bleeding arm made his heart race.

Shubman let out a long sigh, clearly reluctant. "Fine, fine," he finally relented, and Ishan felt a wave of relief wash over him.

The ride to Shubman's apartment felt interminable. Ishan clung to Shubman's shoulders, the night air whipping against them, but his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Shubman's injury. 

As they reached the apartment complex, Ishan felt a surge of determination. He had to get Shubman to take care of himself, to realize that his reckless behavior had consequences.

Ishan wasted no time making Shubman sit down on the couch, his face filled with worry. Shubman, confused by Ishan's sudden urgency, frowned.

 "What?" he asked, his tone sharp.

Ishan glanced at Shubman's blood-stained sleeve and then, with a furrowed brow, asked softly, "Where is the first aid box?"

Shubman's frown deepened, brushing off the concern. "Why? It's just a scratch," he replied, dismissive.

Ishan took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm himself, then gently reached for Shubman's hand to show him the blood more clearly. 

But Shubman quickly pulled back, eyes hardening. "Nothing for you to worry about this much," he snapped, his words cutting through the room.

Ishan sighed, standing up, feeling frustration building. He began searching the apartment for the first aid kit, scanning the cabinets and drawers.

Seeing Ishan move around as if it were his own space irritated Shubman. He got up from the couch, his irritation clear in his voice. 

"Hey, hey! You can't just walk in and check everything like that," he barked, following Ishan around.

But Ishan ignored him, too focused on finding the first aid kit. After a few tense moments, he finally found it tucked away in a drawer. 

Without hesitation, he walked back to Shubman, setting the kit down on the coffee table before making Shubman sit back on the couch, despite the latter's protests.

Shubman glared at him, ready to snap, but something in Ishan's expression stopped him. There was a genuine concern in Ishan's eyes, something soft and tender that made Shubman's breath catch for a moment. 

Still, he hardened his expression, his stubborn pride refusing to let the vulnerability settle in. He watched as Ishan carefully opened the first aid kit and took out the necessary supplies.

Ishan's hands worked with a delicate precision. He gently cleaned the wound, applying ointment to the cuts with soft fingers. Every time Ishan blew air over the applied medicine, as though soothing the pain himself, it made Shubman more irritated why he even let Ishan do it. 

It wasn't just the tenderness of the touch—it was the way Ishan looked at him, as if Shubman's pain hurt him too.

Shubman swallowed hard, snapping himself out of the trance. He couldn't let his guard down now. Composing himself, he stood up abruptly, tugging his hand out of Ishan's gentle grasp.