The first week of school was chaos for Denji.

He didn’t understand half the rules. Didn’t know how to act around normal people. Didn’t know why raising his hand for literally anything made everyone laugh.

He just wanted to belong.

So when a group of students told him:

“Hey Denji, go buy us drinks and we’ll let you hang with us,”

—he sprinted off instantly, desperate to be included.

But when he returned, arms overflowing with bottles he paid for with his own tiny allowance, they snatched the drinks and tossed him a single—

“Thanks, dude. Bye.”

They didn’t even look at him.

And he tried to laugh like it didn’t sting.

That’s when you stepped in.

“Wow. They totally used you,” you said, appearing beside him before he could slink away.

Denji blinked at you. “Isn’t… isn’t that just… what friends do?”

“No. Friends buy each other drinks.” You took one from the pile in his arms and pressed the cold bottle into his hand. “Here. Yours.”

He stared at it. Then at you. Then at the unfair joy swelling in his chest.

You smiled — the kind of smile that didn’t feel like a trick.

“I’m [Name], by the way.”

“…Denji.” He said your name again in his head, like he was afraid of forgetting it.

From then on, the school days changed.

You sat beside him at lunch even when he slurped noodles too loud. You helped him read instructions he couldn’t make sense of. You even laughed at his dumb jokes — the ones everyone else ignored.

And Denji…

Denji started looking for you everywhere.

When you waved at him in the hallway, his stomach did something weird — like Chainsaw Man revving inside his ribs.

Whenever someone got pushy with him, you stepped in first—hands on your hips, fire in your eyes.

“He’s not your errand boy. Leave him alone.”

And for the first time in his life— someone protected him.

One afternoon, you caught him staring.

He panicked and looked away so fast he smacked his head into his locker door.

You laughed softly, brushing your fingers through his hair to check the bump.

“Careful, Denji. You only get one brain.”

He froze.

Touch. Warmth. Kindness.

He wasn’t used to any of that.

“…Why are you nice to me?” he mumbled.

Your answer was simple.

“Because you’re worth being nice to.”

He didn’t know what to do with the feeling that sentence caused.

But he knew one thing:

He wanted you to stay. He wanted to keep that warmth. He wanted to be someone who deserved you.

So when you threaded your arm through his and asked, “Walk home with me?”

—Denji’s heart practically chainsawed right out of his chest.