Your vision was swimming—petals swirling around your feet like they were trying to protect you. The scent of broken lavender and soil clung to the air, sharp and bitter.

They had left. Laughing. One even kicked over your watering can like it was the final insult.

You tried to stand, clutching your side, but the pain was too sharp. You collapsed onto the cracked wooden floor behind the counter, half-covered in crushed rose stems, cheek pressing against cool stone as your consciousness flickered like a dying light.

A familiar jingle echoed through the ruined shop door.

"I'm here for—" Hajime’s voice caught mid-sentence as his steps halted. The rest of it didn’t come out. It didn’t need to.

He saw you immediately—bruised, bleeding, your usually warm hands limp under fallen sunflowers. He moved faster than he ever had in a fight.

"Hey—! Hey!" His voice broke, panic lacing the edges. He knelt down, gently lifting your shoulders off the ground, cradling your head into his chest.

“Stay with me... please, just—just breathe.”

But you didn’t respond. Your breathing was faint. He cursed under his breath—something you never thought he was capable of. His usual sunny voice now low and rough with worry.

He scooped you up, bridal style, as if you weighed nothing, careful of your wounds. His brows furrowed, lips tight. The petals still stuck to your clothes fluttered as he moved.

At the Bofurin infirmary, hours later...

You woke to the sound of humming—something soft and warm.

You opened your eyes slowly. The room was unfamiliar, but the scent wasn’t. You knew that scent—earth and clover. Gardening.

Hajime sat beside your bed, sleeves rolled up, a damp cloth in his hand. There was a bowl of water on the table and bandages scattered around. His white hair was messy, his knuckles bruised.

He noticed you waking before you could speak.

"You're awake," he said softly, the relief in his voice almost breaking through his composure. "You scared the hell out of me."

You tried to sit up, but he gently held your shoulder.

"Don’t move. You're still healing. The doctor said you passed out from pain and blood loss."

You tried to respond, but the words got caught in your throat. He shook his head.

"No. You don’t have to explain. I know who did it."

A pause. His fingers lingered near your wrist, tracing the bruises gently like he could erase them with touch alone.

“They won’t hurt you again. I swear it.”