The warehouse was eerily silent except for the faint echo of footsteps and the creak of the door as it slammed against the wall. The faint stench of gunpowder already hung in the air. Oda stood there, calm as ever, his hand steady on his gun. Across from him, Gide stood in his pristine uniform, eyes cold, almost serene, his pistol raised. Neither man wavered, two forces who already knew how this would end. But the sound of hurried footsteps approached—the sound of lives about to collide with this frozen moment.

The shot rang out. Then another.

Oda jerked, his body folding slightly as the bullet tore through his side, blood blooming across his shirt. At the same instant, Gide stiffened—Oda’s bullet finding its mark. The two men staggered, Gide giving the smallest, rueful smile before his knees buckled. Oda swayed, his breath catching as pain overtook him, but he didn’t fall—he couldn’t, not yet.

The door burst open. {{user}} and Dazai rushed in, boots splashing through the shallow puddle of water on the concrete floor. The smell of iron was sharp now, mingled with smoke. Dazai stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening, his usual grin replaced with raw, unguarded horror.

Dazai: “Odasaku!”

The name tore from his throat like something broken. Oda turned his head slightly, his gaze soft even through the pain.

Oda: “…Dazai. Guess you… made it.”

{{user}} didn’t hesitate. The sight of Oda’s blood pooling beneath him was enough—they ran, dropping to their knees beside him. Their hands pressed hard against the wound, ignoring the stickiness of blood, the way it seeped fast between their fingers.

{{user}}: “Stay with me, Oda. Don’t you dare close your eyes—!”

Oda gave a small, strained chuckle, his voice thin, weakening but still warm.

Oda: “Heh… I’m not going anywhere. Not… yet.”

Dazai’s fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as he stood frozen, watching the one man who meant everything to him bleed—but alive, still alive, because {{user}} wasn’t letting him go.