Chapter 8: Like a Girlfriend Would

The scent of antiseptic was becoming normal.

Renji hated that.

He hated how familiar everything in this hospital room had become. The clean white bedsheets. The soft beep of machines. The way nurses passed by without even looking in anymore—just another invisible patient in room 307.

But there was one thing that didn't fit into the sterile, numb routine.

Touka.

Every day after school ended, she showed up.

Without fail.

First it was awkward. She'd bring a drink from the vending machine or a book he didn't ask for. She'd sit beside his bed and chat about school, how the student council was panicking without her, or how bad the cafeteria food still was.

The next day, she brought cards.

The day after, she brought takeout—way better than the bland hospital food.

And by the fourth day, she wasn't just visiting anymore. She was taking care of him.

Renji didn't know how to stop her.

"You're early again," he muttered as she walked in that Friday afternoon, schoolbag slung over her shoulder and a bento in hand.

Touka flashed a grin and sat beside him. "I ditched last period."

Renji blinked. "You… skipped class?"

"For you."

"…You didn't need to do that."

"I wanted to."

He sighed, staring at the ceiling. "You don't have to come every day, Touka."

Touka unpacked the bento, not looking up. "But I want to."

"You're not my nurse."

She paused, then looked at him.

"I'm not. I'm your girlfriend."

Renji blinked again. "W-What…?"

Touka tilted her head, smile playful but her eyes sharp. "I mean, I'm not officially your girlfriend yet. But I'm doing everything a girlfriend would, aren't I?"

He looked away, ears turning red.

"You don't have to do this out of pity."

She frowned. "Who said anything about pity?"

"Then why?" he asked quietly. "Why are you still here?"

Touka reached forward and gently fixed the blanket that had slipped off his lap. Her fingers brushed against his wrist, careful near the fracture wrapped in white gauze.

"Because you matter to me, Renji," she said softly. "Even if you don't believe that."

He didn't respond.

Not because he didn't want to—but because he didn't know how to.

Touka stayed until the sun dipped behind the city skyline, bathing the room in soft orange light.

They didn't talk much.

She read a novel aloud while he listened with half-lidded eyes. Sometimes she'd glance over, just to make sure he was still awake. Other times, she'd simply pause to look at him.

She never said it out loud—but she looked at him like he was something breakable and precious. Something the world hadn't been kind to.

As if she could protect him just by being here.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked suddenly.

Renji blinked. "What?"

"Visiting you every day. Being here."

He looked down. "...I don't know."

Touka smiled faintly, then leaned closer.

"I'll stop if you really want me to. But you have to look me in the eye and tell me to go."

He didn't.

Couldn't.

Touka leaned even closer, her face now inches from his.

"You can't, huh?" she whispered.

"Y-You're annoying," he muttered, eyes averted.

She giggled and leaned back, victorious. "Then I'll stay. Every single day, until you heal."

Later that night, after she left, Renji stared out the hospital window.

Something in him had shifted.

It wasn't big.

It wasn't loud.

But it was there—a crack in the numb wall he'd built.

Touka's warmth lingered even after she was gone.

And maybe for the first time in a long time, he wasn't dreading tomorrow.

The next day—Saturday

She came again.

This time, with a small potted plant.

"For your window. So you don't just look out and see nothing."

She placed it on the windowsill like it belonged there.

Renji watched her with a tired sort of fascination. "You're really treating this like a relationship, huh?"

Touka turned to him with a smirk. "Maybe it already is."

He didn't answer.

But the corner of his lips twitched.

That evening, the nurse came to check on him. After a bit of small talk, she smiled and said, "Your girlfriend's really sweet."

Renji choked slightly. "She's not—"

"She brings you food, reads to you, and glares at any guy who even peeks in here," the nurse laughed. "If that's not a girlfriend, I don't know what is."

Renji turned toward the window again.

Outside, Touka was sitting on a bench, texting someone on her phone. She didn't notice him watching.

But she looked calm.

Like she belonged there.

Sunday afternoon

The hospital was quieter on weekends.

Renji lay still, one hand curled near his chest, staring at the plant on the windowsill.

He didn't hear the door open.

But he felt it when Touka placed a hand gently on his forehead.

"You okay?"

He nodded slightly.

"You've barely said anything today," she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes.

"I don't know what to say."

Touka smiled gently. "Then don't. Just rest. I'll stay."

She pulled a chair closer and held his hand—not the broken one, the other.

Her fingers laced with his, soft and steady.

Renji's eyes fluttered shut.

And for once… sleep came without nightmares.

To be continued...