WRAPPED

Alibi

The heavy smell of rubbing alcohol and lavender was the first thing that hit him.

Elliot opened his eyes, wincing as a sharp, white-hot throb echoed through his temple. He was lying flat on a soft mattress, covered by a knitted throw blanket. The ceiling above him was off-white, lit only by the low ambient glow of a small bedside lamp.

He tried to push himself up on his elbows, but a sudden spike of pain in his left forearm made him gasp, sinking straight back into the pillows.

"Don't try to move too quickly," a soft, gentle voice murmured from the shadows near the doorway.

Elliot turned his head slowly, his pulse racing with a sudden, disorienting spike of panic. Where am I? What happened? His mind scrambled to reconstruct the timeline—the night market, the neon lights, the iron bar swinging toward his face...

Lilly stepped into the lamplight, carrying a small plastic tray with a bowl of warm water, a roll of gauze, and two white pain pills. She was back in her oversized sweater, looking fragile, tired, and deeply relieved to see him awake.

"Lilly?" Elliot rasped, his throat bone-dry. He looked around the small, cramped space—bookshelves, framed dried flowers, modest thrift-store furniture. Her apartment. "How... how did I get here? What time is it?"

Lilly set the tray down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the mattress, offering him a glass of water with a small straw.

"It’s almost two in the morning," she whispered, her dark eyes filled with soft concern as she helped him take a slow sip. "After that guy chased off those men, you passed out completely. I was terrified... I didn't want to call an ambulance because you kept groaning about not going to a hospital, and honestly, I panicked."

She paused, biting her lip with the exact amount of hesitant, apologetic anxiety.

"A street cab pulled up right at the corner of the alley. The driver saw you bleeding and helped me load you into the back seat. I gave him double your wallet's cash to help me carry you up the stairs to my apartment."

She gestured toward his left arm, which was neatly bound in a tight, surprisingly professional compression bandage, along with a clean butterfly stitch closing the cut on his temple.

I used to volunteer at a clinic in college," she added softly, offering a sheepish, self-conscious smile. "I cleaned the cut and wrapped your arm. I don't think it's broken, just badly bruised, but... I’m so sorry, Elliot. I should have called a doctor."

Elliot lay back, breathing through the dull ache in his head as his calculated mind reassembled the story. She brought me here herself. She nursed me.

The situation had diverged from his original script, but as he looked at her sitting on the edge of the bed—looking like a devoted, worried girl who had dragged him home and tended to his wounds—a familiar sense of satisfaction slowly replaced his panic.

She wasn't just interested; she was invested now. Bound to him by a night of shared trauma and caretaking.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Elliot said, his voice dropping into that low, soulful register as he reached out with his good hand to lightly cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin. "Thanks for caring for me, Lilly."

Lilly looked down at him, her cheeks flushing pink in the dim lamp light as she gave him a timid, sweet nod.

"I'm just glad you're okay," she murmured softly. "You risked everything to stand between them and me."

She leaned in closer to gently adjust the knitted throw blanket over his shoulders, her hair falling past her cheek. Elliot didn't let the moment slip away. Using his good hand, he gently cupped the back of her neck and pulled her down into a sweet, soft kiss.

Lilly stiffened for a fraction of a second—a momentary, unreadable beat—before leaning into it, letting her hand rest lightly against his chest as if overwhelmed by the sweetness of the gesture.

Elliot pulled back slowly, offering her a faint, reassuring smile, confident that he had just cemented her absolute devotion.