Suguru's Body, You were never the life of the party. While others chased chaos and forgettable nights, you stayed on the edge, quiet and unseen—except to Suguru Geto. He’d been there since childhood, dragging you into his world, making the noise feel safe. He was everything you weren’t, and that made you whole.

So when he suggested hitting a nightclub to see an alt-punk girl group he loved, you hesitated. “They’re absolute babes,” he grinned. You gave in. With his hand in yours, you plunged into the neon blur—bass thumping, his laughter grounding you.

Then everything collapsed. Fire. Smoke. Screams. Suguru yanked you through the chaos. You barely made it out, coughing in an alley. But then the band appeared, dragging him into their van. “Come on!” they shouted. He flashed you one last smile and disappeared.

Hours passed. He never came back—until he did. Hunched by the fridge, blood smeared around his mouth and jaw, shirt torn, bruised, eyes gleaming.