The taxi tore through the rain-soaked streets, the hum of the engine drowning beneath Yui's pounding heartbeat. She cradled Haruto's head against her shoulder, his weight heavy and frighteningly still.
"Haruto, stay with me, please," she whispered, her voice trembling as droplets from her wet hair dripped onto his cheek. His blood was warm against her palms, seeping through the thin fabric of her sleeves.
His eyes, once sharp and mocking, now flickered weakly beneath his lashes. "Y-Yui…" he breathed, almost inaudible.
"Don't talk, just—just breathe," she said, her voice cracking. She pressed her hand against his, trying to stop the blood that trickled from his palm where the knife had cut deep. Her fingers were shaking so badly that she almost dropped the cloth she had wrapped around it.
But when the driver looked into the rearview mirror, he caught sight of the crimson spreading across the seat and went pale. "Miss—what happened—?"
"Please just drive!" Yui shouted, desperation ripping through her throat.
The city lights blurred outside, each flash of neon bouncing across Haruto's pale face like fragments of a fading dream. He looked strangely peaceful, his lips curved in a faint, delirious smile.
"You're… crying," he murmured, eyes half-open now.
"Shut up, you idiot," Yui hissed, voice breaking. "Just—stay awake."
Her tears fell freely now, splashing onto his collar. Her chest ached — not just from fear, but from something deeper, something she didn't want to name.
And then the world began to blur for her too.
The taxi's hum faded, replaced by the sound of water. Cold water. Her mind flashed back—
That night. The screech of tires. Her mother's hand slipping from hers. The icy lake swallowing the headlights whole.
She could still hear herself screaming underwater, reaching for them, her lungs burning. The helplessness. The way their faces disappeared in the ripples.
"Not again," she gasped under her breath. "Not someone else—"
She grabbed Haruto's face between her hands. "Do you hear me? You're not allowed to die on me, Kuroya!"
His eyes fluttered, his lips forming the ghost of a smirk. "Bossy… even when you're scared."
She let out a broken laugh through her tears, pressing his hand tighter. "Shut up, Haruto. Please."
And then, suddenly, his fingers twitched—lightly brushing against her cheek. His voice, faint but clear:
"I'm not leaving you."
Something inside her shattered at those words.
The cab screeched to a halt in front of the hospital. Nurses ran to the car as Yui cried out, "He's losing blood—please!" Her hands were trembling so violently she could barely open the door.
They took him from her arms, wheeling him through the glass doors under the blinding white lights. For a moment, she stood there, rain soaking her to the bone, hands stained crimson, her heart refusing to slow down.
She hated him. She feared him. And yet… seeing him collapse tore something inside her wide open.
Hours later, the sterile hospital corridor was silent except for the rhythmic hum of the lights above.
Yui sat on the bench, her hands clasped, eyes swollen from crying. The smell of antiseptic clung to her skin.
She checked her phone — no messages from Shoji. Her mind spun. He can't find out. No one can.
Her fingers trembled as she texted:
"Hey Shoji, I'm staying at a friend's house tonight. Don't worry."
She stared at the message until the little "delivered" mark appeared. Then she turned the screen face-down and pressed her forehead to her knees.
The past few hours replayed over and over — Haruto's faint voice, his blood, his broken smile. The way he had said her name.
"Why do you keep getting hurt…" she whispered to the floor.
Behind her, a soft sound echoed — footsteps, slow, deliberate.
Yui froze.
The faint reflection on the hospital's glass panel revealed him — Haruto, bandaged hand resting casually in his pocket, hospital jacket draped carelessly over his shoulders.
He looked far too composed for someone who'd nearly bled out.
Yui shot to her feet. "W-what are you doing here? You should be resting—"
Haruto tilted his head, amusement flickering in his tired eyes. "With whom are you talking?"
She instinctively hid her phone behind her back. "No one," she said too fast.
Haruto took a slow step forward. "You're lying."
Her breath caught. She stepped back, but the wall met her spine before she could move again. Haruto's shadow loomed closer, the faint hospital light glinting in his dark eyes.
He didn't touch her this time, but the closeness was enough to make her heartbeat stumble. His voice was quiet — almost fragile — when he spoke.
"You were crying, weren't you?"
She tried to look away. "You scared me. You—"
His hand came up, hesitated, then rested gently against the wall beside her head, the bandaged fingers brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
"I told you I'm not leaving you," he said softly.
There was no smirk now, no arrogance — just exhaustion, and something raw.
Her throat tightened. "You said that while you were half-conscious. You didn't mean it."
His lips twitched faintly. "Maybe. But it made you stop crying."
Her eyes widened, a tremor of confusion and frustration rushing through her. "You're impossible," she muttered, pushing him lightly on the shoulder — but he caught her wrist before she could step away.
The warmth of his fingers against her skin was startlingly gentle.
"Thank you," he whispered.
For a long moment, the world stilled.
The white light above them flickered. Outside, rain still whispered against the windows.
Yui swallowed hard, unsure what to say — unsure what she even felt anymore. The dangerous, unpredictable boy who had tormented her was now standing before her, looking almost human. Almost… breakable.
"I'll have the car pick us up," he said finally, his tone quieter than she'd ever heard it. "You shouldn't walk home alone tonight."
Yui shook her head. "You're in no condition to—"
"I said us, Yui," he interrupted gently.
She sighed, her chest tight with too many emotions. "Fine. But only if you promise not to pull something reckless again."
A faint grin ghosted across his face. "No promises."
She glared, but the corners of her lips betrayed her —