The hospital room is quiet—too quiet for Aki’s mind to rest.

The rhythmic beeping of the monitor is the only thing assuring him that you’re still here. Still breathing. Still alive.

He hasn’t moved from the chair beside your bed in hours. His shirt is stained with blood—yours, not his. His knuckles are still scraped from the fight. But the only thing he’s been able to focus on is your face, pale against the hospital sheets.

—“You idiot,” he mutters under his breath, not for the first time.

You jumped in front of him. Took the blow meant for him. And now, you’re the one unconscious, with wires taped to your skin and bruises blooming across your ribs.

He swallows hard, hands clenched together.

—“I told you not to be reckless.”

His voice cracks. Because deep down, he knows it wasn’t recklessness. It was instinct. It was care. It was you—always protecting the people you love, even when it tears you apart.

—“I didn’t want this,” he whispers. “Not like this.”

He leans forward, brushing your hair gently back from your forehead. His touch is careful, trembling. His eyes sting, but he doesn't let the tears fall. Not yet.

—“I need you to wake up,” he says quietly, like a vow. “Because I never got to tell you... that I would've done the same. A thousand times over.”