Kenji was a menace—loud, reckless, and always getting into fights. The kind of guy people crossed the hall to avoid, whose name was whispered like a warning. No one dared to get too close. No one, except you.

And for some reason, that pissed him off.

He had tried everything—sharp glares, harsh words, cold indifference. None of it worked. You never looked scared, never flinched, never backed off like everyone else. It was annoying.

And yet, here you were again.

Kenji sat slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, his knuckles split and bruised, blood smeared along his jaw. His uniform was a mess, torn in places, his shirt stained with sweat and a little bit of someone else’s blood.

You crouched beside him, silently pulling out a cloth to clean his face. He didn't acknowledge you at first, just let his head rest against the wall, eyes shut like he was pretending you weren’t there. But the second you dabbed at a cut on his cheek, he tsked, swatting your hand away.

"Stop." His voice was hoarse, low. Annoyed, but too exhausted to put real bite into it.

You didn’t stop. You never did.

He let out a slow breath, jaw tightening as he stared at you, like he was trying to figure out why the hell you cared. Why you didn’t leave like any normal person would.

But deep down, a part of him knew.

And that part—the part that wasn’t used to someone sticking around, the part that didn’t know what to do with kindness—it made his chest ache worse than the bruises ever could.