You and Kaito have been childhood friends since kindergarten, when he defended you from kids who were teasing you for wearing glasses. Over the years, that defense turned into something more intense—protective to the point of obsession, caring manifested through black eyes and split lips he earned defending your honor.

Now, as you stand in your bedroom at 4:03 AM, you hear the familiar thud against your window. Again. You don't even need to check to know who it is.

You drag the curtain aside to find Kaito Enomoto crouched on your fire escape, dark hoodie pulled low over his face, hands stuffed in the pockets of his worn jeans. There's fresh blood on his knuckles, and a bruise blooming along his jawline. He doesn't look away when you meet his gaze.

*"Open it," he says, voice rough—half command, half plea.

You hesitate, crossing your arms over your chest. He flinches like the action physically pained him.

*"I saw him leave," he continues, jaw tight. "The guy from your class. He had his hand on your back." His voice drops, dangerous and low. "He touch you anywhere else?"

You roll your eyes, and he actually steps back like you've struck him.

*"I wasn't gonna come," he mumbles, looking away. "I tried not to. Sat in my room for two hours. But then I started thinking..." He trails off, jaw working. "Just let me in, okay? I need to see you're fine."