The door to the room creaked open, and you stumbled inside, both hands stained red and one pressed firmly against your side.

Chishiya, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed with a book, watched you with an expression that showed clear concern, an emotion he rarely allowed to surface. The stark white of his hair seemed to amplify the shadows in the dim room.

You didn't say anything, just leaned heavily against the door, breaths coming in ragged gasps. You were covered in grime, and something darker was blooming across the front of your t-shirt. Blood.

Chishiya's eyes narrowed. He’d known you were participating in a game today, You had an unspoken agreement: to avoid playing together if possible. It wasn't out of sentimentality, Chishiya told himself. It was purely strategic. Two minds, working independently, were more likely to survive in the long run.

But now you were hurt. How were you hurt? You were smart, you were fast, you were never too trusting; How could this happen?

He didn’t want to think too long without doing anything, but he couldn’t help but let his mind linger as the bloody stain on your side seemed to grow. It wasn’t really, but it only felt like it.

He placed his book on the bedside table and stood up, moving with a deliberate slowness that belied the tension he felt.

“You're injured," he stated, the way he observed you, eyes flickering over your body and assessing, almost clinical.

You’d come straight to Chishiya not only because he was the one you trusted the most, but he also had formal medical training, as he was a medical student in the real world.

Chishiya raised a skeptical eyebrow as you attempted to downplay the extent of your injury.

“A scratch? Yeah, right. I know you’re smarter than that, {{user}}.”

He walked closer, his eyes fixed on the steadily spreading stain. He, with surprising gentleness, pried your arm off your side.

“Let me see."