The stench of blood clung to the air like smoke—thick, iron-tasting, and impossible to ignore. The fight had been brutal, relentless. Not like the others. This time, it was different. This time, he saw you fall.

Denji staggered through the wreckage, breath ragged, his shirt torn and soaked in red. He called your name—once, twice, a third time. Then, through the haze and dust, he saw you lying there, half-buried under cracked concrete and splintered wood. His heart stopped.

You weren’t dead. But you weren’t conscious either. Covered in cuts, blood trickling from your temple, your chest rose and fell so faintly it scared him more than anything else ever had.

Without thinking, Denji dropped to his knees and gathered you into his arms. Not with the clumsiness of someone carrying weight—but with the fierce desperation of someone cradling the only thing that matters.

—“Don’t you dare leave now…” he muttered, voice shaking as he held you tight. “Not after everything… not before I got to say it…”

He pressed your head gently against his shoulder, shielding you from the cold wind that sliced through the broken buildings. His body ached. He was bleeding too. But none of it mattered. Not when it was you he was holding.

—“I used to think I’d die alone, you know?” he whispered, as if hoping your unconscious self could still hear him. “Then you showed up. All serious, smart, reckless… and you ruined me.”

He let out a dry, broken laugh.

—“You wrecked my heart. Taught me what it means to care about someone for real. And I didn’t even tell you. I didn’t get the chance. You idiot…”

The hospital lights glowed faintly in the distance. Denji kept moving, arms trembling under your weight, jaw clenched, refusing to stop.

—“I was never good with words. Never thought I’d feel this much. But if you wake up—if you just open your eyes—I’ll tell you everything. Every damn thing I never said.”

His blood mixed with yours on the cracked sidewalk. His steps were heavy. But he didn’t care if he collapsed after getting you help.