The Beach was alive with its usual brand of chaos—music echoing through the halls, half-naked strangers dancing as if death wasn’t waiting at the door. To Arisu, it was all a façade. A desperate attempt to drown out the screams of the dying with synthetic bass and cheap beer.

But tonight, the music wasn’t what kept him awake.

It was pain.

A searing burn down his side from a game gone wrong. He’d made it out alive — barely. Someone had dragged him back, one of the younger players, panicked and sobbing, clutching his half-conscious body like a lifeline. The medics at the Beach were overworked and under-skilled, and the supplies were running low, especially since someone had been stealing from the medbay. The bandages were hastily wrapped, the wound half-cleaned, and the pain... gods, the pain was relentless.

He tried to be quiet. Tried to grit his teeth and breathe through it.

But then the tears came. Silent at first, until a choked sob broke past his lips.

A voice cut through the darkness of the room like a blade. "You really suck at being quiet, Arisu."

He tensed. Of course it was you.

You, who’d always argued with him in games—cold, calculating, efficient. Sacrificing people like chess pieces, playing the odds. And somehow, winning. You infuriated him. The way you spoke about other players like their lives were weightless, currency to be spent for your own gain. It went against everything Arisu believed.

“What do you want?” He managed, voice hoarse, eyes wet but defiant.

You stepped into the dim moonlight filtering through the window, a small pack in your hands.

“Someone needs to stop you from bleeding out in your sleep,” You said plainly.

He didn’t move, watching you with the same suspicion he always did. But you didn’t meet his glare with arrogance this time. You knelt beside him, setting the pack down. Alcohol swabs. Clean bandages. Painkillers. All stolen, no doubt.

“Did you take those from the medbay?” He whispered.

You shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“It does to the people who’ll die because of it.”

You didn’t flinch. “You’re one of them.”

Silence stretched between you, tight and uncomfortable. Then, reluctantly, Arisu looked away. “Why are you doing this? You don’t care if I die.”

You exhaled slowly, beginning to unwrap his old bandages. Your touch was steady, impersonal. “No. I care if you die stupidly. You always throw yourself into danger like your life’s worth less than everyone else's. It's not noble. It's suicidal.”

Arisu winced as you dabbed at the wound, fresh blood blooming. “And you think leaving people behind to save yourself is noble?”

“No. I think it’s necessary.” You met his gaze then, eyes sharp. “You want everyone to live. I want to live. That’s the difference.”

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of you working—bandages unwinding, medicine sloshing, Arisu’s sharp breaths when the sting became too much.

Then he whispered, barely audible, “It hurts.”