the night air bites at his skin, sharp and cold, but eijiro barely feels it. all he notices is the weight of you against him, his hand gripping your arm to keep you steady.

behind you, the crowd murmurs, fat gum’s broad frame bent as he holds down the villain. it had been a simple patrol—until you shoved him out of the way, took the hit meant for him. the impact still lingers in his chest, but the blood soaking your side makes it hard to breathe.

he pulls you aside, dropping to his knees in front of you. “don’t move,” he mutters, his voice rough. the gash is deep, fabric torn and sticky with red. his stomach twists—he should’ve stopped this, should’ve been your shield. that was the promise he made the moment you chose him.

his jaw tightens, eyes burning as the distant sirens grow louder. “i’m sorry,” he says, the words harsh, desperate. “it won’t happen again. i’ll get stronger.”

not a promise—a vow.