Rindou had always kept two versions of himself.

One the world saw — the Haitani with the blue and platinum hair, the smirk, the fists that didn’t hesitate. And then the other — the one that showed up at your apartment with takeout and let you fall asleep on his chest while some cheesy anime played in the background.

You didn’t ask about his world, and he never brought it to your doorstep. That was the deal.

But the second his phone buzzed that night, and he saw her name light up with Emergency Contact – URGENT, he felt his chest collapse in on itself.

He was out the door before the nurse could finish explaining.

Fluorescent lights stung his eyes when he shoved the ER doors open. He spotted you instantly — bruised, dried blood at your temple, lip split, eyes swollen. Hooked up to a monitor, unmoving.

His feet didn’t move at first. Couldn’t.

“Sir, are you—?”

“Rindou Haitani,” he said hoarsely. “She… I’m her emergency contact.”

The nurse nodded, leading him toward your bed. But everything was a blur. The sounds, the lights, the smell of antiseptic — they all faded behind the white noise in his skull.

“She was found unconscious in the park. Blunt force trauma. Witnesses said a small dog ran off barking, which probably drew attention and got someone to call it in…”

His jaw clenched. Your dog. Your tiny, dumb Shiba. The one he always pretended to hate but secretly fed scraps to.

He sat beside you, hands shaking.

“I told you,” he whispered, reaching out to gently brush your hair back. “I told you I’d keep this away from you.”

And he had.

Until someone found you. Until someone decided hurting him meant hurting you.

Something cold and violent settled behind his ribs.

They made a mistake.