Chapter 7: Fractures

The world tilted.

Screams echoed in the distance, tires skidded on the wet road, and a wall of metal hurtled toward him—fast and unstoppable. Renji didn't move. He didn't run. He didn't flinch. In that moment, he had accepted it.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was how everything ended.

But fate had other plans.

A force slammed into him from the side, yanking him off the road and onto the rough sidewalk. Pain exploded through his wrist and ribs as he collided with the pavement. The truck roared past, close enough to stir the ends of his hair with its wind.

He lay there, breathless, stunned.

Then a voice—soft, panicked—cut through the haze.

"Renji?! Are you okay?!"

He blinked, trying to focus. A shadow hovered over him, face pale and flushed, eyes wide with fear.

It was... Touka.

The student council president. The perfect, untouchable, elegant girl who rarely even showed up to school anymore. And right now, her hands were gripping his shoulders, trembling.

"Can you hear me?" she asked, then gasped. "Your hand—oh no, it's fractured."

He looked down and winced. His right hand was bent unnaturally, the pain sharp and pulsing.

Touka quickly pulled out her phone. "I'm calling an ambulance. Just stay still, okay?"

He tried to speak but couldn't find the words. "Why…? Why were you here?"

She glanced down, her expression softening. "I was out for a walk. I saw you and... I just ran. I didn't think, I just—"

She broke off, brushing hair from his face.

"バカ…こんなところで死ぬなんて許さない (Idiot… I won't forgive you for trying to die like this)."

The hospital lights were blinding.

Renji lay motionless on the bed, his fractured hand bandaged and elevated in a sling. He hated hospitals. Too clean. Too quiet. The beeping machines sounded like mockery.

Touka sat beside him, her school uniform wrinkled, a faint scuff on her knee from the fall.

She hadn't left.

Not once.

He glanced sideways. "You can go. I'm fine."

Touka tilted her head, then smiled. "帰らないよ.私の大切な人が怪我したんだから (I'm not leaving. Someone precious to me got hurt)."

Renji looked away. "You're weird."

"Then I'll be weird. For you."

The door creaked open. A nurse peeked in, holding a clipboard.

"His family's here," she said gently.

Touka's smile faded.

A moment later, his mother and older sister entered. Both looked pale, stiff, like they had walked into a funeral. His sister's eyes widened when she saw him.

"Renji…"

He said nothing.

Didn't even look at them.

His mother stood at the door, silent.

His sister tried again. "We were so worried, we—"

Touka stood, her voice calm but firm. "He needs rest."

"He's our family," his mother muttered finally.

Touka's eyes narrowed, just slightly. "Then maybe act like it."

There was a heavy silence.

Finally, his sister whispered, "I'm sorry, Renji…"

But he didn't move. Didn't blink. Just kept staring out the window.

His mother turned and left.

His sister lingered, but when Renji still refused to look at her, she followed.

The door shut softly.

Touka sat again, her gaze still on him.

"Is that how they usually are?"

Renji didn't answer.

"I see."

Touka sat again, her gaze still on him.

"Is that how they usually are?"

Renji didn't answer.

"I see."

She leaned back in her chair, arms folded loosely in her lap, eyes thoughtful.

"You really don't have to stay," he muttered.

"I really do," she replied, more seriously this time. "You think I can just leave someone I care about alone after something like that?"

He froze.

Then looked at her again.

"…You care?"

Touka leaned forward, brushing a hand through his bangs. "I always have. But I couldn't show it. Not with everything around you so broken."

He felt something tighten in his chest.

"I'm sorry I was late," she whispered. "But I'm here now."

Hours passed. Rain began tapping against the window. The sky had turned a pale gray-blue.

Renji shifted slightly in bed, wincing.

Touka stood and poured him water, placing the cup gently at his side.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"You're welcome, baka," she said with a teasing smile. "Now drink it."

He chuckled, despite himself.

"You really don't have to stay."

"I really do," she replied, more seriously this time. "You think I can just leave someone I care about alone after something like that?"

He froze.

Then looked at her again.

"…You care?"

Touka leaned forward, brushing a hand through his bangs. "I always have. But I couldn't show it. Not with everything around you so broken."

He felt something tighten in his chest.

"I'm sorry I was late," she whispered. "But I'm here now."

Later, as night settled in again, Renji drifted into sleep.

His dreams were unclear—bits of voices, bright lights, someone's hand holding his. Warmth.

And as he lay there, peaceful for the first time in what felt like years, Touka sat beside him, reading quietly, never once letting go.

Outside, the world kept spinning.

But in that little hospital room, for one fractured boy and the girl who refused to leave him behind, time stood still.