In all honesty, you and Coil had never been the best of friends.

It started with disagreements—little things, like which restaurant to go to or what movie to watch. But those small arguments escalated, and after the breakup, things only got slightly worse.

And yet, you were still… connected. Maybe "friends" was the wrong word. You talked when you had to, laughed when something was genuinely funny, but apart from that, there wasn't really anything else.

There was one thing, though, that stayed the same: you still went to his matches. He never asked you to come, and you never asked if he wanted you there. You just showed up, like clockwork. You sat in the back, away from the loudest of his fans, The crowds cheered and screamed his name, but you always told yourself you were the only one in the room he could stand.

Tonight’s fight was no different—at least at first, he obviously won the fight. However, what caught your attention, though, was how he looked after. He didn't even bask in the victory. Instead, he leaned heavily on the ropes. He looked more exhausted than you’d ever seen him before.

Something was off.

You watched as he finally climbed out of the ring, barely managing to keep himself upright. He made his way backstage, head down, not acknowledging the fans trying to catch his attention.

Something tugged at you. Concern? Obligation? You weren’t sure, but you found yourself standing, weaving through the crowd, and somehow, you managed to slip past security, ignoring the protests as you ducked into the back hallway.

When you finally spotted Coil, he was sitting on a bench, head resting against the wall, eyes closed like he was trying to steady himself.

"Coil." You held up the drink and food you'd brought. It wasn’t much, just a sandwich and a bottle of water, but it was something.

He looked at the items in your hands, then back at you. "You know I can take care of myself, right?"

You sighed, exasperated, Forcing him to take the items.

“I’m just trying to be nice, Coil,”