Page 13 of Bend

i’m helping my parents close up the restaurant tonight

you want me to bring you something on my way home?

I huff a laugh, eyes dropping to my notebook.

There’s something unfair about being cared for by someone you’re lying to by omission.

ME: i’m good.

stop trying to feed me like i’m a stray cat.

DRAYGON: strays still gotta eat.

I stare at that line until my throat tightens for reasons I’m not interested in unpacking.

Before I can reply, there’s a knock at the door.

I freeze, surprised.

My life has been nothing but them lately—shitty, ugly little revelations popping up like landmines. The knock comes again, heavier this time.

I set the guitar aside carefully, slide off the bed, and cross the room, tugging my sweatshirt down as I go. It’s oversized, sleeves pushed up around my forearms, soft and worn in the way only your favorite hoodie gets. Underneath, I’m in a simple brown tank top, thin straps, fitted but comfortable. My leggings are still on, but I’ve rolled the waistband slightly where the sweatshirt bunches at my hips.

My thick hair’s twisted up into a messy bun at the crown of my head, pieces already falling loose around my face.

Thick socks slide quietly over the cheap carpet as I move.

I glance through the peephole.

Sayshen.

He’s holding a cardboard drink tray in one hand and a paper bag in the other. I open the door halfway, leaving the chain still on.

His gaze flicks to the chain, then back to my face. He doesn’t comment. Just lifts the bag.

“I brought breakfast,” he says.

“What is it with men trying to feed me?”

His mouth twitches, like he’s fighting a smile then as if realizing what I said, it disappears. “Wait, who else is trying to feed you?”

“No one. Nevermind.” I add, leaning my shoulder into the doorframe. “But I will admit, this feels a little suspicious.”

“It’s not,” he says, steady. Then, after a beat, “Look, can I come in? Or are you going to make me stand out here like a delivery guy?”

I hesitate.

Then unhook the chain, and pull the door open, before stepping back and lifting my arm in a silent invitation for him to come in.

The moment he steps inside the room feels smaller. Like the walls are closing in around his presence, which is surprising since Sayshen isn’t intimidating in the way Talon is. Talon’s like a slammed door—hard, loud and final. Sayshen dangerous in a quieter way. A controlled kind of intensity. Calm eyes, steady hands, the type of person who watches before he moves.

He sets the bag on the small round table by the large window, and the drink tray beside it. The smell of coffee and something buttery hits the air, warm and comforting instantly making my chest ache.

“Full transparency, I didn’t know what you like,” he says. “So I guessed.”

“Hmm that’s risky,” I reply, but my voice comes out softer than I mean it to.

He pulls out a breakfast sandwich wrapped in foil and a pastry in a paper sleeve and places them on the table like he’s trying to bribe my trust.