Minnie

he gets very quietly worried. 

doesn’t always know how to express it, but he’s always thinking about you. 

orders groceries, learns to cook simple meals, keeps your favorite drink stocked. 

not overly affectionate at first, but he always checks: “do you want company today?” 

if yes, he’ll sit beside your bed and read or scroll through his phone. 

if no, he still leaves a snack on your nightstand. 

if you open up about your insecurity, his voice gets really serious: “you’re allowed to not be okay. just don’t shut me out.” 

holds your hand when you cry and refuses to let go until you’ve fallen asleep. 

itoshi sae

very… blunt. 

not in a mean way, just practical. he doesn’t sugarcoat things but he never makes you feel lesser. 

“you’re not broken. you’re still you.” 

if you’re upset, he doesn’t try to fix it with hollow reassurances. he’ll sit with you in the silence and let you feel. 

sometimes he just crawls into bed next to you and knocks out, head on your stomach, no questions asked. 

“don’t feel like moving? good. i didn’t want to either.” 

will absolutely carry you if you ever say you do want to go outside. 

“shut up. you’re light. plus i like the excuse to hold you this close.” 

nagi seishiro

king of being horizontal. 

genuinely doesn't see an issue with your preference to stay in bed, he’d stay there too if people stopped bothering him. 

plays games beside you or leans back so you can watch comfortably. 

casually adapts to your needs without making a fuss about it. 

if he sees you struggling, he doesn’t say “do you need help?” he just does it. 

“you’re still stronger than reo in a 1v1.” 

when you’re feeling down, he’ll dramatically throw himself across you like a human weighted blanket and groan, “ugh, life’s so hard… you’re the only reason i’m surviving.” 

he means it, kind of. 

mikage reo

rich boy privileges: he immediately researches accessibility products and home modifications. 

hires people to help, but only if you're comfortable with it. 

if you say no to something, he listens. 

he’s the type to book a private movie screening just so you can enjoy something new without dealing with crowds or logistics. 

but he’s also just as happy doing nothing with you. 

“whatever makes you happy, makes me happy.” 

always checking in, but never overwhelming. he lets you set the pace and is endlessly patient. 

may or may not try to build a robotic exosuit “just for fun.” 

kaiser michael

oh he pretends to be annoyed: “ugh, you never wanna go out and show off how hot you are? tragic.” 

but behind that ego is someone who makes your bed the most comfortable place on earth. 

he’ll bring in fairy lights, plushies, top-tier bedding, and a projector so your room feels like a cozy palace. 

“who needs the outside world when you’ve got me, anyway?” 

if anyone dares pity you or talk down on you, he will go feral. 

super soft when you’re feeling down. strokes your hair and mumbles dumb things like: “i’d trade my legs if it meant you could dance again. but you’d probably hate that, ‘cause i have hot legs.” 

always gassing you up. always making you laugh. always calling you “queen of the bed.” 

bachira meguru

tries to make everything fun, even when you're sad. 

brings art supplies, glow-in-the-dark stars, board games. anything to make your space lively. 

sometimes he lies next to you and pretends you’re on a spaceship bed traveling through the galaxy. 

“captain! we’ve reached the jellybean nebula!” 

your laughs are his mission. 

if you’re having a bad day, he builds you a blanket fort and lets you vent inside the “safe zone.” 

“i love you. not your legs. not your ability to walk. just you.” 

lowkey the best emotional support human ever. 

chigiri hyoma

out of everyone, he gets it the most. 

the moment he finds out about your leg disability, he doesn’t look at you with pity. just a quiet sort of empathy in his eyes. 

“i know what it’s like… i had an ACL injury before.” 

doesn’t say “i understand” lightly, but he truly means it. 

he’s the kind of person who’ll sit beside you on bad days and just be present. no pressure to talk. just there. 

and if you do talk, he listens like your words are gold. 

loves brushing your hair while you rant or holding your hand under the blankets. 

sometimes he gets a little choked up, like he’s projecting his past onto your struggles, but he catches himself. 

“sorry. it’s just… you remind me a little of how i used to be.” 

he encourages you slowly, softly. not to walk. not to change. but to believe that you’re still strong, even when you don’t feel like it. 

brings you hot tea and flowers and puts on calming music when you’re overwhelmed. 

if you ever want to go outside, he’s already scouting the area for accessibility ahead of time. 

“you’re not a burden. not to me. never to me.” 

he kisses your forehead like he’s trying to protect every part of you – body, heart, and soul. 

karasu tabito

chill and sarcastic, but very observant. 

he notices when your mood shifts and knows how to break tension with a well-timed joke. 

if you’re lying in bed moping, he’ll pop in like: “oh no. the bed’s taken her hostage. quick, i’ll negotiate her release with chocolate.” 

still checks in under the jokes. “but seriously. want anything?” 

will carry you fireman-style just to be annoying. 

also threatens to push you around in a shopping cart if you refuse a wheelchair. 

“you don’t have to move. i got you.” 

and he does got you. more than you realize. 

hiori yo

he doesn’t say it outright, but the man is down bad for you being bedridden. 

like, way too chill about it. suspiciously into it. 

finds your quiet, withdrawn nature so alluring. your stillness, your softness, the pain in your eyes, you are his type to a terrifying degree. 

the first time he sees you curled up in bed, blanket over your legs, eyes tired? he’s cooked. doomed. obliterated. 

“you don’t go outside much?” he asks, voice a little too soft, like he’s already mentally moving in. “... good. i’ll stay in with you.” 

he doesn’t just want to take care of you. he wants to worship you. he brings snacks, books, heating pads, and affection like it’s an offering. 

genuinely blushes when you look fragile. fragile is hot to him. like sorry not sorry. 

if anyone calls you weak? he’s unbothered. in fact, he agrees. “yeah. she’s weak. that’s why she needs me.” and he means it. 

strokes your leg absentmindedly like it’s his favorite thing in the world, even if you can’t feel it. “it’s okay if you can’t run. you’re mine. stay still.” 

gets a little dark when someone tries to force you out of bed or pressure you to be “normal.” he smiles, but there’s no warmth in it. “she’s perfect the way she is. back off.” 

your disability doesn’t scare him. it fascinates him. and not in a weird science way, in a “i could devote my entire life to this girl and be happy” way. 

to hiori, you’re not “broken.” you’re beautiful because you’re fractured. and he wants every piece.

but gosh, he loves it. he doesn’t say it often, but he’s a complete sucker for your touchy behavior. it makes him feel wanted, needed, even if you're just poking his face while he’s trying to nap or tangling your legs with his under the kotatsu. 

when you’re walking beside him, your arm always loops through his like you’ll die without contact. sometimes you even swing them dramatically like you're on some sort of romantic anime opening. nagi doesn’t stop you. he just blinks down at your hands, mumbles “mm” like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and lets you drag him around like a big sleepy husband. 

and when you’re on the couch together? you don’t sit on the couch, you melt onto him. across his lap. in his hoodie. on his chest. under his blanket. even if it’s a hundred degrees out, you’ll still find a way to burrow into his arms like a human furnace. 

“aren’t you hot?” he’ll ask. 

“yeah, but your arms are my air conditioning.” 

“… that doesn’t make sense.” 

“neither does my love for you.” 

nagi blinks slowly at the screen, dies in-game, and then kisses the top of your head like he’s been doing it forever. 

also, he never used to hold hands much, but now you’ve trained him like a pro. you’ll sneak your hand into his at random – while grocery shopping, on walks, or while waiting in line – and now he does it without thinking. even once reached for your hand in his sleep, like his body just knew you were too far. 

sometimes you jump on his back and demand he piggybacks you around the house like it’s normal. 

“you’ve got legs,” he mutters as he stands up with you clinging to him like a sleepy monkey. 

“they’re just for aesthetics,” you yawn. 

“cheater,” he says, but again, he doesn’t complain. if anything, he takes the long way to the kitchen. 

and every time you nuzzle into his chest when you’re tired, or tuck your hands into his hoodie sleeves, or wrap your arms around his neck out of nowhere with a sleepy “love you, sei,” he just hugs you tighter. 

because for someone who used to hate effort… loving you feels effortless. 

and having you glued to him like velcro? 

he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

he heard your voice. soft. scared. “we should stop doing this.” 

he closed his eyes. “i know.” 

because every time he touched you now, it chipped away at the version of you who used to look at him like he held the stars. now your eyes were guarded. hopeful in a way that made his chest cave in. because he knew you still wanted something he couldn’t give. 

he wanted to tell you he tried. he really did. he wanted to be better. he wanted to love you the way you deserved – loudly, honestly, with both feet in. but something in him always pulled away before it got too real. like love was a tightrope and he didn’t trust himself not to fall. 

he remembered last december, too. he remembered how your chest rose and fell under him. how still you were. how he could feel your heartbeat under his ear, and how it scared him – how steady you were. how much you wanted him to stay. and how he already knew he wouldn’t. 

so when you asked him how you could go back to being friends, he wanted to tell you the truth. that you couldn’t. that he ruined that. that friendship was something soft and innocent and he’d already turned it into something jagged. 

but instead, he said the one thing he knew would keep you from hoping. “we weren’t really friends when we were dating either.” 

it was cruel. he knew it. but he needed you to stop waiting for him. he needed you to hate him, even if it was just a little. 

he left before the light touched your window. he stood in your doorway, fingers wrapped around the knob, memorizing the outline of your sleeping face. part of him wanted to crawl back in beside you. to pretend. just a little longer. but that was the thing about pretending – it always ended. 

so he walked. 

and when he saw you on the street weeks later, his breath caught. for just a second. he thought about smiling. about waving. about doing something. but your eyes met his, and in them he saw everything he lost, everything he threw away. so he kept walking. he told himself it was mercy. 

he laughed at something reo said. he didn’t hear it. he didn’t care. he kept walking, but he felt the weight of your stare for blocks after. 

people ask if he’s moved on. he shrugs. says he’s focused on football. says he’s too busy for relationships. they nod. they understand. no one ever asks about you. no one remembers you like he does. 

he still sees you everywhere. 

he sleeps on one side of the bed, not because he has to, but because it’s habit now. he turns to the left and expects your silhouette. sometimes he dreams about you, never in happy scenes. always in the in-between. doorways, train stations, quiet mornings with too many words unsaid. 

he thinks about texting you. about saying sorry. about trying again. 

but he doesn’t. because you deserve someone who doesn’t have to think twice. 

and he’s already decided to be the version of himself that leaves first. 

you were love, and he was afraid of it. now you’re gone. 

and he pretends you’re someone he’s never met. 

because that lie is easier than the truth: you were the only one he ever did.