All Roads Lead To Home

Late morning sunlight spilled through the blinds, casting a quiet glow across the small hospital room.

Crow’s heart monitor beeped continuously. He lay still, pale but safe. His arms and head were wrapped in clean bandages, his expression peaceful, devoid of the chaos of the night before.

Hinata stood by the windows, just within Crow’s reach. Her wounded shoulder and thigh were dressed in fresh gauze and bandages. The ache in her body persisted, dulled by medications and the antiseptic atmosphere of the ward.

She watched over him and never took a nap.

At the same time, she spent the night trying to figure him out and his recklessness.

He walked on fire. Bled. Without a word.

For her.

“So stupid,” she told herself, brows furrowed.

That sat heavy in her chest. She looked at Crow, watching his breath for hints of shallowness or distress.

Exhaustion slowly crept in. She turned around and walked out of the room for fresh air.

But he was stable, and that was enough.

— • —

Outside Crow’s room, Dylan stared at a questionable convenience store bento.

Hinata closed the door behind her and settled at the far end of the bench.

“…This bento looks expired,” Dylan muttered as he bit on a piece of meat. “But I respect it for trying.”

She didn’t look over. And he just kept chewing.

“If I die, tell Crow I regret nothing.”

He lazily held up a dumpling, offering it to fate—or Hinata, whichever was hungrier.

“Want one? The flavor’s questionably good.”

“No.”

“Thanks. You’re welcome.”

Dylan popped another dumpling in his mouth and leaned back on the bench.

“If you’re worried, Crow’s gonna be fine. He fell off the stage in one of his gigs and still managed to ride home.”

Hinata exhaled. She looked down, her shoe tapping on the floor.

“He should have stayed away.”

Dylan wagged his finger in disagreement.

“Yeah. But that’s just who he is. Run off, he’ll follow. Disappear, he’ll come banging on any door. Borderline obsessed.”

Hinata glances at him.

“Too sweet. Too charming. No wonder girls flock to him, but he waves them off like flies. Damn shame.”

He wiped his mouth with a crumpled napkin.

“You know, he stormed out of the bar whispering your name,” he said. “Hinata, right?”

He let out something between a chuckle and a scoff.

“I know he’s a dork, but he’s chill,” he remarked, clearing his throat. “Well, to be fair, you do look the part. Same name, a little different stare. Probably couldn’t help himself.”

He waved it off with a lazy flick of his wrist. “But naming someone after a game crush, though? Bit much.”

Dylan paused. Hinata turned, slowly.

“…After a what?”

The walls and the air turned to ice.

“…Nothing,” he said, hands up in a casual recovery. “Just thinking out loud. By the way, I’m Dylan. Drummer. Crow’s occasional babysitter.”

She closed her eyes with a sigh, unbothered. “Hinata. Kanno Hinata,”

“Mhm.” Dylan stopped mid-sip of his bottled tea. “PFFT—”

He nearly choked. He swallowed hard, eyes wide.

“Excuse me?” His ego collapsed. “KANNO HINATA?? I did miss damn plot points! Crow’s half-dead and somehow STILL winning! What is this nonsense??”

On the outside—

“…That’s… interesting. Total coincidence. Way too common, actually.”

Hinata didn’t reply.

Dylan stared down at his bento in defeat. Then he took another slow bite, chewing bitterly.

“…Crow, you divine bastard,” his inner self bawled. “You better find a good lawyer because I’m gonna sue your luck, damn it.”

— • —

Days passed. The hospital doors slid open with a soft hiss, releasing a breath of filtered air into the warm dusk.

Crow stepped out first, wincing at the afternoon sun like he’d been blind for days. Hinata followed, throwing occasional glances toward Crow, checking on him.

Waiting by the curb was an unfamiliar car. Dylan stood beside it, arms folded behind his back. He wore aviators like a licensed professional.

“Master Crow. Lady Hinata. Your carriage awaits.”

Crow blinked. Hinata squinted.

Dylan straightened up and opened the car door smoothly. “Please mind your step,” he said, voice elegant and refined. “The interior has been fully decrumbed.”

Crow turned to Hinata. “What happened?”

Hinata shrugged. "No idea."

Crow climbed into the back seat. Hinata followed in silence. Dylan took his place behind the wheel, fully committed to serving.

No one spoke for a full minute.

“Would Lady Hinata prefer sparkling or still water? I also have a selection of mints, if one requires a refreshment.”

“No.”

Dylan hummed, adjusting the cabin temperature with the care of someone pretending it wasn’t a beat-up Corolla borrowed from a cousin.

By the time they reached Crow’s building, the sky bruised purple and gold. Dylan parked perfectly, then stepped out of the car, opening both doors wide. Crow shot him a dead-eyed look, half thankful, half looking for answers.

“I have also secured provisions,” Dylan said, lifting two plastic grocery bags from the trunk. “May I offer to carry your burdens inside?”

“You already are,” Crow muttered.

Dylan led the way to the apartment, shoulders back, unlocking the door for his divine landlord. He gestured them inside with a small bow.

Crow entered first. He paused to set his bag down beside the shoe rack. His eyes flicked around—same layout, same smell, same dim hallway bulb that flickered twice before staying on.

Behind him, Dylan stepped in with the grocery bags. He disappeared into the kitchen, handling all items with surgical care.

Crow turned towards Hinata, shrugging and shaking his head.

Hinata didn’t respond. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

Everything looked the same. The apartment. Same couch. Same fridge. Same warm air.

But this time, it felt different.

The absurdity of it all—Crow the idiot with his loyalty complex, who never asked questions, the battered walls, the hum of lived-in space—settled around her like an old, cozy blanket.

And for the first time in a long time. She felt human again. And it scared her more than before.

Hinata lingered by the entryway.

Then, a memory flickered to life.

A kid running up to the door after school: “I’m home~!”

A voice answering back, full of warmth: “Welcome back~!”

Her lips remained still.

But inside her—soft and gentle, like steam rising from a warm bowl of soup—words floated to the surface.

“…I’m home.”

And somehow, it felt right.