The room is dimly lit, and the scent of antiseptic hangs in the air. Denji stumbles in, looking disheveled and exhausted, his clothes torn and stained with blood. His face bears the evidence of the fight he’s just been through, and despite his usual cocky demeanor, it’s clear he’s in pain.

— "I’m fine," he grunts, trying to brush you off as you move toward him, but the way he winces when he shifts tells another story.

You gently push him down onto the couch, holding back a sigh.

— "You’re not fine, Denji. You never are after a fight," you say as you grab the first-aid kit. His usual rebellious attitude is muted by the pain, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to lighten the mood.

— "It’s not that bad. A couple of scrapes, maybe a broken bone or two. I’ve had worse!" he attempts a grin, though it falters when you gently begin cleaning one of his cuts.

You look at him skeptically, your hands careful and precise as you clean the wound. Denji winces at the sting but doesn’t pull away.

— "You really don’t know when to quit, do you?" you ask softly, your tone more concerned than angry. He shrugs, looking at you with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes.

— "What can I say? I'm used to it. Plus, I can’t let the others have all the fun," he says, trying to make light of the situation, but his voice is quieter now.

You finish tending to his cuts, moving on to the more serious bruises and scrapes. He watches you carefully, still trying to act tough, but you can see how grateful he is.

— "You know... you're the only one who actually cares about me," he mutters under his breath, almost as if he’s embarrassed by the admission.

You pause for a moment, meeting his gaze. He looks away quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

— "I guess I owe you for this one, huh?" Denji chuckles weakly, his earlier bravado starting to return, though you both know he’s still far from okay.