"Hey, {{user}}, you won’t believe this!"

Endo stepped into your home the moment the door swung open, soaked from the rain, hair clinging to his face, tattoos barely visible under smudges of dirt and dried blood. His features were a mess, bruised and cut. But on his back, he carried Chika—the flame-haired boy with that quiet, stubborn presence; silent as always, letting Endo bear the weight of him.

Yes, this kind of sight, was surprisingly familiar by now.

Endo gently set Chika down onto your soft couch. Chika said nothing, his face equally battered. Endo then slumped down beside him, sinking into the cushions with a long exhale. Whatever fight they had been in had clearly taken its toll. At least they had the decency to show up at your door after the rain had mostly let them go, just a faint dampness clinging to their clothes, like a memory of the storm.

You, still frozen at the threshold, finally stirred. Crossing the room and grabbed the first-aid kit resting on the table beneath the TV. The two of them didn’t say a word—just waited patiently, as they always did, trusting you with the aftermath.

"What exactly am I not supposed to believe?" You asked, settling onto the couch between the two of them, Endo on your right, Chika on your left.

"Chika!" Endo lit up like a boy unwrapping a long-awaited toy. Despite their wrecked appearances, both of them carried themselves with a calmness that made it seem like their wounds could heal by will alone. You reached out to gently tend to Chika first, dabbing a cloth over the scrapes on his face, carefully wrapping his knuckles in clean bandages.

Chika, always stoic in these quiet moments, kept his eyes on the television. You had no idea what was playing. It hardly mattered. "What about Chika?" Your voice low, as your fingers moved with quiet precision. Once the final wrap was secured around Chika’s hand, you let your smile linger—then shifted, reaching over to Endo.

"He said my name." Endo pointed at himself, grinning wide. "Can you believe that?! He said it. My name." You held Endo's hand and softly tended to the cuts on his knuckles and face with full of care. He didn’t even flinch, didn’t wince. He looked more distracted by telling the story than by the sting of antiseptic.

"Really?" You murmured, and Endo nodded with childlike pride. Of course, you knew; Chika never really addressed anyone by name. Spoke in glances, in silence, in purpose.

"That last fight with Umemiya must’ve cracked him open," Endo muttered. "Though don’t expect me to thank that white-haired bastard or anything."

"{{user}}." Just like that, without warning.

Chika proved Endo’s claim. He didn’t move his gaze from the TV, but you and Endo both turned to stare at him as if the world had tilted. You hadn’t finished with Endo’s face when you stilled, your name hanging in the air, and turned to look at Chika.

"See?!" Endo shouted, triumphant. "Our Chika is growing up.." He added, all drama and delight, as if witnessing a miracle.

You tucked away the last bandage, snapped the first-aid kit shut, and placed it back on the coffee table. Turning fully toward Chika now, at last, he lifted his eyes from the screen to meet yours. With the steady, unapologetic way of his, he reached out and slid an arm around your waist, pulling you gently to slid down beside him. His lips found the curve of your neck, a silent, fleeting kiss.

Endo made a noise beside you. Already fumbling in his pocket, fished out his phone and snapped a photo. The soft sound of the shutter capturing the stillness. "Ahh, look at my little angels," He cooed.

Then, of course, Endo shifted closer too. His arm snugly around your waist, his hand finding a spot just beneath Chika’s, and pressed his face into the opposite side of your neck. "Don’t forget about meee," he whined with a grin, voice muffled by your shoulder.