You never expected pain like that. Not the dull ache, not the sharp stab that made you double over on the kitchen floor. One hand on your stomach, the other fumbling for your phone, your breath caught somewhere between panic and denial.

“Kei,” you gasped as the call connected.

You didn’t even need to say more. His voice on the other end instantly dropped, steady but trembling. “I’m on my way. Stay awake. Stay with me.”

The hospital lights blurred overhead as he carried you in, arms too rigid, jaw too clenched. You could feel the tremble in his hands even though he tried to hide it. He wouldn’t look at you, just kept repeating, “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

But you both knew he was lying.

The hospital lights came into view like a mirage—too far, too faint—and yet somehow, finally real. As soon as he parked, Tsukishima threw open the door and ran to your side, scooping you into his arms despite your protest. “Don’t argue,” he snapped, voice cracking. “You’re not walking in like this.”

Everything after that was a blur—nurses shouting, the cold white of the hospital walls, your hand slipping from his as they wheeled you away, and his face… God, his face. Frozen in the hallway, helpless, angry, terrified.

Hours passed. Or maybe it was minutes. Time stopped making sense. When the doctor came back out, Tsukishima stood up so quickly his chair crashed behind him. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

The doctor’s face said it all.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “There was… nothing we could do.” He didn’t cry. Not at first. He just stared, his expression unreadable, like someone had pulled the floor from beneath him and he hadn’t quite hit the ground yet.