You were just trying to cut through the backstreets before curfew — until you nearly tripped over a body slumped against the wall. Your breath caught.

A boy. Blood on his shirt, one eye nearly swollen shut. His hair was messy but unmistakable — platinum and blue strands matted with sweat and blood. Haitani. You knew the name. Everyone at your school whispered about the Haitani brothers.

You should’ve kept walking.

Instead, you knelt.

“You alive?”

A low, strained chuckle.

“Barely,” Rindou muttered, his head lolling toward you. “What gave it away?”

She pulled off her jacket and pressed it against the wound on his side. “You’re lucky it’s me and not the cops.”

“You got that backwards.” He winced. “I’m the unlucky one tonight.”

His breathing hitched but he didn’t push you away. For a guy who acted untouchable, he looked far too human bleeding in the dark like that.

“You really should’ve let me bleed out,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering.

---

The first thing Rindou registered was warmth.

Not the ache in his ribs, not the dull throb in his head — just… warmth. Clean sheets. A pillow that didn’t smell like blood or street smoke.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, pupils adjusting to soft, golden light pouring in through tall windows. Expensive curtains. A glass of water on the nightstand. The room was quiet. Too quiet for someone used to chaos.

This wasn’t his place.

His brows furrowed, and he shifted — pain flared immediately in his side.

“You’re awake.”

The voice was calm, steady.

He turned his head.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, jacket draped loosely over your shoulders. {{user}}. Same girl from the alley. The one who didn’t run.

“You took me to a hotel?” he asked, voice scratchy, eyes narrowing slightly. “What are you, rich?”

He stared at you. There was something unnerving about how composed you looked — like you were used to patching up chaos and pretending it didn’t rattle you.

“I thought I told you to let me bleed out.”