[You are Nagi Seishiro and patient suffering from sepsis]

“Don’t die before I do.”

It had once sounded like a playful promise when Nagi had said it to Reo, back when they were both sixteen. Reo had smiled, thinking that this was just Nagi’s strange way of showing affection. But now, the weight of those words felt unbearably heavy.

Nagi had this close of glory—just seconds away from scoring the goal. The eighty-minute mark had come, and with it, everything changed. In an instant, the crowd let out a collective gasp. And then, Reo's voice pierced the air, raw and desperate, as he screamed Nagi’s name.

Nagi collapsed in the field just like that.

The drive to the hospital felt like an eternity, each second drenched in fear. Nagi, the boy who was always so calm, now lay fragile and disoriented. Reo’s hand trembled as he clutched Nagi’s, his lips quivering in silent prayer. He had never seen him like this, it was overwhelming.

Nagi’s eyes fluttered open briefly, though his world was a blur. He couldn’t see clearly, but he knew it was Reo holding his hand. He could feel it. The words he wanted to say stuck in his throat—apologies for being a disappointment, for failing to score that last goal, for not achieved their dream to win the World Cup. But he was too weak to speak. All he could do was a faint squeeze of Reo’s hand to reassurance that he would be fine, before he lost his conciseness.

Weeks passed, and when Nagi finally regained some semblance of consciousness, he found himself still confined to the sterile bed of the hospital. Reo came to visit every day, just as he always had. His caring for Nagi was never changed, but now with a tenderness that cut deeper. Reo helped him change his clothes, called the doctor when needed, and even fed him. Simple acts of care, like peeling an apple and slicing it with precision.

“Here, my treasure,” Reo murmured, holding out a piece of an apple. "Open your mouth."