CW:graphic violence, blood, severe injury, death, medical distress.
A dead weight of muscle, shattered bone, and fading warmth. His forehead thudded against her sternum. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders, trembling under his weight as the scent of iron and rain flooded her senses. Kuro's breath came in shallow, wet rasps against her neck—each one weaker than the last. Blood soaked through her newly buttoned shirt, warm and insistent, mingling with the rain still drumming against the alley floor.
The old brick phone lay on the ground beside them, the name "J" glowing faintly on its scratched screen. Hikari stared at it, her mind blank for a heartbeat. Then urgency surged, sharp and desperate. 〖He's dying. He needs help—now.〗
With one arm still bracing Kuro's limp form, she stretched her free hand toward the phone. Her fingers, slick with rain and Kuro's blood, fumbled as she grabbed it. She pressed the call button, holding it to her ear with shaking hands.
It rang once. Twice.
Someone picked instantly up.
The voice on the phone snapped—professional, alert— "Boss? I'm sorry. I had to finish this downtown pig. Have you thought about return—"
Hikari's grip tightened on the phone. "H-he! ...H-he's hurt," she stammered, voice cracking. "Bleeding. Bleeding a lot... H-Here's... a body too."
A sharp inhale. "The boss is wounded?"
She heard distant shouts on the other end, the slam of a door, urgent commands barked in clipped tones.
"Location. Now."
"B-Burning Road 2."
She looked up to see what was close and remembered.
"A-Alley beside the shuttered ramen stall." The words scraped her throat raw.
Five minutes. Keep pressure on his wounds. Do NOT move him too much. If he wakes up, talk, don't let him close his eyes.
"P-pressure? H-how—"
Click.
The line died.
〖Pressure?〗 Panic flared, cold and sharp. 〖Where? How?〗 Blood seeped from Kuro's temple, nose, the split in his lip—a dozen wounds painting her shirt crimson.
She dragged one sleeve down over her hand and pressed the fabric hard against the gash on his head where bone might be showing, the soaked cotton slipping on blood and rain.
She shoved the phone into her pocket just as the dead enforcer's phone began ringing beside the corpse—Hideo's rage made manifest.
Hikari ignored it.
With trembling arms hooked under Kuro's shoulders, she dragged him backward toward the rusted garage door—a shallow recess offering meager shelter from the downpour. Rain lashed her face as she strained, muscles screaming. Every inch felt impossible, Kuro's dead weight sinking into the slick concrete. She staggered, her sneakers sliding, and crashed against the cold metal door, gasping.
"Oof..."
〖Choking. He'll choke.〗
Gently—so gently—she rolled him onto his side. A low groan escaped him as broken ribs shifted. Pain etched his unconscious face. She froze, breath held. When he didn't wake, she carefully cradled his head in her lap, tilting it to keep his airway clear. Rainwater and blood streaked her thighs as she pressed her sleeve tighter against Kuro's head wound, feeling the sickening warmth pulse beneath the sodden fabric. His breathing hitched—a wet, shallow rattle that echoed Hideo's phone still screaming from the alley floor. Each ring felt like a taunt.
〖Don't look. Don't listen. Just hold on.〗
He was lying on his right side—his face turned partly away.
Her eyes caught on a pale patch of hair above his ear—white, almost. It felt wrong, out of place. She leaned in without thinking.
Damp strands of her own hair slipped loose and brushed his cheek. Grimacing, she quickly gathered them up and twisted them into a knot, pushing them back out of the way with one hand.
As she straightened up, Kuro's body shifted—his weight tipping sideways.
He let out a strained grunt as broken ribs protested.
Her heart lurched.
"Oh no—"
She caught him instantly, arms tightening. Her breath hitched as she steadied him again, pulse thudding in her ears. He hadn't made a sound like that before—what if she'd made it worse?
Then—only then—his eyes flickered open.
She blinked, startled. For a second, she wasn't sure it was real.
Slivers of red in the gloom. "Jin...?" he slurred.
Her breath caught. So that's what the J stood for.
She leaned in again, more carefully this time, to hear his broken voice better.
"C-Coming," Hikari breathed, pressing her sleeve harder against the awful wound at his temple. The fabric was saturated now, crimson blooming through the threads. "They're coming."
〖Don't close your eyes. Please. Five minutes is forever when someone's bleeding out.〗
"Y-your name is 'Kuro' r-... right?" The question tumbled out—anything to anchor him here.
His head lolled slightly in her lap, eyes struggling to focus upward. "Yes, kid." A wet, rattling cough shook him, flecks of blood spotting his chin. "Name's Kuro." He sucked in air like a drowning man.
Frantic, Hikari switched sleeves, pressing the cleaner fabric against his head. The wound yawned—deeper, uglier. She glimpsed something hard and white beneath the torn flesh. 'Bone? Oh god.' Her own face drained of what little color remained.
〖Talk. Keep talking.〗 "S-So, You—" she stammered.
He cut her off, his voice unnervingly detached, drifting. "What is... your... name?"
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