Chapter Text
📍 This is a Modern AU. Features original characters alongside canon characters.
📍 Major Crimes Unit Detective Grimmjow × Kindergarten Teacher Orihime.
📍 Police and medical terminology are for storytelling purposes only and not professional settings.
📍 My apologies for everything.
The preschool in the late afternoon was quiet, steeped in an almost melancholy hollowness. Under the waning sun, the shadows of the children's swings stretched like long, distorted fingers across the dirt, their iron chains clinking rhythmically in the breeze. Orihime stood at the classroom door, her gaze lingering on the empty yard as she held the hand of the last child waiting to be picked up.
This was only her second month at this preschool, yet she had already found her rhythm. Orihime hadn’t chosen Early Childhood Education on a whim back in university. Her own childhood had been anything but happy; her parents were volatile, creating an environment where harsh words and sudden outbursts were the only constants. During those formative years, she had mastered the art of walking on eggshells, learning to read the slightest shift in a room’s atmosphere as a means of survival. Because of that, she cherished the innocence of children above all else—their laughter and raw, unfiltered emotions were the warmth she had been denied in her own past, and the world she now vowed to protect.
She enjoyed being with children not just because they were cute. She wanted to learn how to care for them, how to guide them, and how to ensure they felt safe and free in their own little universe. To that end, she had poured herself into her studies, participating in countless internships and volunteer programs to gain experience. After graduation, she learned about an opening at this preschool through her close senior from high school, Matsumoto Rangiku. Rangiku had great faith in her abilities and recommended her to the owner, who was an acquaintance.
After a few observations and interviews, Orihime stepped into this small, cozy preschool. The student body was small, allowing teachers to focus on each child’s individual needs. Most importantly, it was only a ten-minute walk from her apartment. Normally, she wouldn't have been left here alone today. But the principal had family matters to attend to, and the colleague she was supposed to close with had gone home early after feeling under the weather. Fate, it seemed, had conspired to leave Orihime as the sole guardian of the quiet building.
"Why isn't Mommy here yet...?"
The little boy, Sho, pouted as he spoke. There was a hint of impatience and grievance in his voice, but he looked so adorable it was enough to make anyone’s heart melt.
"She’ll be here soon," Orihime murmured, kneeling down to meet his eyes with a reassuring smile. "Let’s be brave and wait just a little bit longer."
Just then, as if a sudden memory had struck him, Sho leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear as he began to whisper a secret.
"Teacher, teacher..."
"Yes? What is it, Sho?" Orihime responded earnestly.
"Over there, in the back," Sho said, pointing a small finger toward the preschool’s rear wall and the storage shed. "I saw him just now. A really big man... and he was bleeding..."
He lowered his voice even further into a conspiratorial whisper. "I told the other kids, but they didn't listen to me..."
"Eh?"
Orihime froze for a second. Instinctively, her gaze followed the direction of his steady, pointing finger.
The area near the back wall rarely caught much sunlight to begin with; as dusk approached, it looked even more somber. The shadows of the trees twisted and stretched across the concrete like silent, grasping hands, cutting her vision into fragmented slivers and exuding a faint, unsettling aura.
In that moment, she didn't feel immediate fear. To a child, a "monster" was often just a stray shadow or a trick of the imagination. In these past two months, she had become well-practiced in gently debunking reports of "scary black things" lurking in the corners of the playground.
And yet—Sho wasn't smiling. He wasn't exaggerating or acting excited; he spoke in a small, grave voice. It was the tone of someone simply reporting an irrefutable fact, making it impossible to brush off.
She stayed in her crouched position, eyes level with his, as a strange sense of unease slowly crept into her heart. Sho instinctively squeezed her hand. The pressure was light, but the sheer weight of his sincerity made her heart sink.
"Sho, about that—"
She was about to ask for more details when Sho’s mother hurried toward the front gate, her voice calling out to him.
"Ah! Mommy’s here!"
Sho ran over happily, his brief gravity forgotten in the excitement of going home. Orihime followed to have a quick, polite chat with the parent about his day at school, then waved them goodbye. The moment the iron gate swung shut, the crisp clang of metal echoed with startling clarity through the now-empty preschool.
It felt as though she were the only person left in the world. The quiet air suddenly grew heavy, pressing down on her lungs.
Orihime stood rooted to the spot. Taking a deep breath, she looked back toward the depths of the yard. The area near the back wall remained silent, a pocket of stillness where the light didn't reach. She tried to reassure herself; maybe the child had just seen wrong. They kept seasonal costumes back there that weren't in use—maybe he’d mistaken a bulky Santa Claus suit for a "big man."
But she couldn't convince herself. The gnawing unease in her heart refused to be silenced.
Steeling herself, she tapped her pocket to ensure her phone was there, and began to walk, step by step, toward the back wall. Each footfall on the gravel felt unnaturally loud, marking her progress toward the unknown.
In that moment, a snippet of conversation from earlier that morning flashed in her mind at the worst possible time.
"Did you hear? There's a violent robber on the run. Apparently, he was sighted in this district."
"Really? That’s terrifying. The preschool is right in the middle of this neighborhood."
She had overslept that morning and had been too focused on clocking in to truly listen, offering only a casual, hurried nod. Now, those words rushed back like a cold, relentless tide. She shook her head violently, trying to drive away the dark thoughts, but the seed of dread had already taken root.
As soon as she turned the corner of the wall, her feet froze.
There really was a person there.
Just as Sho had said: a "really big man."
The man sat slumped against the perimeter wall, one leg stretched out and the other slightly bent. Even in his weakened state, his towering frame seemed to dominate the entire small clearing. In the shadows, his short blue hair was strikingly defiant, as if refusing to be swallowed by the oncoming night. His head was tilted at a heavy angle, and blood seeped from a jagged wound on his temple. It traced a dark path down his cheek and dripped onto the dirt—a vivid, visceral crimson.
Orihime’s breath hitched in her throat. She forced back the scream that surged to her lips, caught in the agonizing indecision of whether to speak or run.
"Sir... are you alright?" she started tentatively, her voice barely a whisper, afraid of startling him.
But the man slowly opened his eyes.
They were a pair of sharp,blue eyes. His gaze was alert and lethal—not the hazy eyes of a typical injured person—and he locked onto her instantly in the gloom, like a predator cornered in the dark.
"Stop right there," he grated. "Don't you dare come any closer."
His voice was low and raspy, like stones grinding together, yet it carried the unmistakable gravity of a command.
Orihime blinked, immediately raising her hands to show she meant no harm. "You're hurt. You need—"
"I don't need a damn thing."
He spat the words out through gritted teeth. He pressed a blood-stained hand against the concrete, trying to shove himself up, but a muffled groan escaped him the moment he moved. His shoulder slumped visibly, his strength failing him despite his iron will.
Orihime’s heart tightened at the sight. Instinctively, she took another half-step forward.
"It... it would be better if you didn't move..."
"I told you, stay back!"
This time, his tone was even colder. It wasn't just aggression; it was a hardened defensive shell built over a lifetime—sharp, cold, and ready to strike back at a moment's notice.
She looked at the man before her—the hulking frame, the tensed muscles, the sheer aura of violence radiating from him, and those eyes that looked nothing like a regular passerby’s. A sudden chill ran down her spine.
She realized, with a jolt, the raw reality of her situation: a deserted preschool at dusk, by a back wall, alone with an unidentified, bleeding man who was actively refusing help while projecting literal killing intent.
Orihime swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs with a violence that made her dizzy. Her mind was a chaotic mess, like gears spinning at high speed, trying to find any rational way to react.
Reason screamed at her to call an ambulance immediately, but the man before her—massive, drenched in blood, his gaze radiating lethal intent—felt like a landmine ready to detonate. She had no way of knowing if he would accept help or lash out in a final, desperate burst of aggression.
She regretted not watching the news. She regretted dismissing her colleague's warning about the fugitive robber. She didn't even know what the suspect looked like, but she could feel it in her gut: this man—both in presence and temperament—was the antithesis of a "good person."
Fear washed over her like a biting wind, making the fabric of her apron rustle under her trembling hands.
Logic and intuition grappled in her mind:
She wanted to help.
She was terrified that one wrong move would be her last.
Summoning a fragment of courage, her voice thin and wavering, she spoke: "Then... can I at least call an ambulance for you?"
The man clutched his wound impatiently, letting out a sharp, dismissive tsk. He didn't even grant her a glance; it seemed the sheer agony had stripped him of any patience for civility.
Seeing no answer, Orihime tried again, her voice smaller this time: "O-or... do you need me to call the police?"
Before the word could fully leave her lips, he cut her off with a low, guttural roar—
"Don't you dare call the cops."
His voice was a lethal rasp, carrying a chilling authority that brooked no argument. Orihime flinched, her heart skipping a beat.
Why not the police?
The thought surfaced instinctively, cold and heavy. Is he... actually the criminal?
Her body stiffened, and the step she had been about to take toward him froze mid-air. The man, however, no longer had the strength to notice her hesitation. He tried once more to shove himself up against the concrete, but his body had reached its absolute limit. He managed a single, staggering step before collapsing heavily to the ground.
This time, there was no groan. No movement.
Orihime stood paralyzed for a heartbeat before the reality hit her—he had lost consciousness.
Casting all hesitation aside, she whipped out her phone and dialed for an ambulance. While waiting, her pulse raced so hard it felt like it might burst from her chest. Seeing the vivid crimson still seeping from his temple, she forced her hands to stop shaking. She ran back to the office to grab clean towels and pressed them as gently as she could against his wound to stem the flow.
As she worked, a prickling sensation crawled up her neck—the unmistakable feeling of being watched.
Thinking it was just her frayed nerves, she glanced up, only to gasp in panic.
A man in a baseball cap was hooked over the perimeter wall, his eyes fixed on her and the fallen, unconscious man. The moment their eyes met, the stranger bolted, disappearing into the twilight as if his life depended on it. Orihime was left standing there, her cry of surprise stuck in her throat.
At that exact moment, the wail of an ambulance siren pierced the evening air, shattering the heavy silence as it came to a halt at the preschool’s entrance.
Orihime rushed forward to brief the paramedics, her movements a blur as she scrambled to lock the preschool doors. Grabbing her bag, she hopped into the back of the ambulance, her heart still not quite finding its rhythm.
She sat beside the stretcher, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles turned white. With every jolt of the vehicle, the man’s brow would twitch slightly, though he showed no signs of waking. She stared at his pale profile, her mind a whirling mess. That one sentence—“Don’t you dare call the cops”—kept echoing in her ears like a warning bell.
She didn't know if she was doing the right thing. What if he really didn't want to be found? What if her interference only invited a deeper, more dangerous trouble?
"Miss, were you the one who found him?" a paramedic asked, snapping her back to reality.
"Y-yes... by the rear wall of the preschool," she nodded quickly. She recounted everything—from the little boy’s tip to her own discovery—laying out the details as clearly as her frayed nerves allowed.
"Did he say anything to you?"
She hesitated for a beat, the memory of his lethal gaze burning in her mind, before answering honestly: "He... he told me not to call the police."
The paramedics exchanged a swift, silent look but said nothing, simply picking up the pace of their work. That unspoken exchange made her heart sink even further into a pit of dread.
Upon arriving at the hospital, the man was immediately wheeled into the ER. Under the harsh, clinical glare of the lights, the blood on his skin looked even more jarring. As the medical staff tended to his wounds, they began the routine process of identifying him.
"Do you know him?" a nurse asked.
"N-no, I don't," Orihime shook her head hurriedly. "I just happened to find him..."
The nurse nodded, systematically checking his jacket and pants pockets. A wallet, a phone, a set of keys—one by one, the items were placed onto a cold metal tray with a sharp clink.
Just when she thought they were finished, the nurse’s movements suddenly paused.
"...What’s this?"
Orihime’s breath hitched.
It was an ID badge. Inside the transparent holder, the man in the photo wore a cold, wild expression—the exact same fierce intensity as the blue eyes that had locked onto her earlier. And there, printed clearly beneath the photo, was his name:
Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez
Major Crimes Division
Criminal Investigation Department
"......"
She found herself momentarily speechless, the air leaving her lungs in a long, silent exhale.
It was as if a gear in her brain had lagged for a split second before finally clicking into place with a resonant thud. No wonder those eyes were so sharp. No wonder that, even while gravely injured, his presence remained so suffocatingly overwhelming.
Orihime stood frozen, her heart giving a heavy, jagged thud against her ribs. She recalled her own fear, her hesitation, and that fleeting, shameful thought—Is he a bad person? A sudden, prickly heat rushed to her cheeks. If he were awake right now, she couldn't even imagine how she would face him.
"He’s a detective," a medical staff member whispered. "He likely got injured in the line of duty."
"Then... is he going to be okay? What should I do now...?" Her voice had dropped to a soft, concerned murmur she didn't even recognize as her own.
"There’s head trauma. It looks like a concussion for now, so we need to monitor him. He’ll be staying overnight." The staff member paused, glancing at her. "Would you be willing to leave your contact information? The police will likely need to follow up with you later to confirm the details."
"Y-yes... of course." Her nod was stiff, her mind still reeling.
As she was ushered into the hallway to wait, she finally noticed that her hands were still trembling.
The man who had made a chill run down her spine just moments ago... the man she had been terrified to approach, yet couldn't bear to leave behind... As it turned out, he was someone who stood on the front lines, chasing the very danger she feared.
Orihime sat on the plastic bench, looking down at her palms. Her fingertips were white from tension, only now beginning to regain their warmth. She replayed that low, resolute command in her mind.
—"Don’t you dare call the cops."
If he were a police officer, that sentence was even more haunting. Was it because he didn't want to alarm his colleagues? Was it because he refused to let anyone see him at his weakest? Or... was it simply that he couldn't stand the thought of anyone seeing him fallen?
She couldn't find an answer. She only knew that in that moment, when he had looked at her with those eyes, it felt like a command—but also like a man forcing himself to hold on with every last shred of his soul.
The thought left a strange, heavy ache in her chest.
Orihime exhaled softly, her hands clasped over her knees under the fluorescent lights. She had saved a stranger. But in doing so, she had unwittingly stepped into a world she was never meant to touch—and the door to that world had already begun to creak open, just a sliver of a crack.
The doctor’s final diagnosis was straightforward, yet impossible to take lightly.
A blunt force trauma to the head. The injury itself was significant; the open wound had been sutured, but due to the brief loss of consciousness and vomiting, it was clinically ruled as a concussion with a potential risk of intracranial hemorrhaging. To be safe, the hospital decided to keep him for observation for at least three days.
Silence reclaimed the hospital room.
The monitoring equipment emitted a rhythmic low hum, and the lights reflected off the white walls with a clinical harshness. The man lay on the bed, his forehead wrapped in thick, snow-white bandages. His blue hair was matted and messy, and his complexion looked even paler than when he had collapsed by the preschool wall.
That overwhelming pressure he carried seemed to have been swallowed by the light and the hospital sheets, leaving only the sound of his heavy, steady breathing rising and falling in the quiet space.
He was sleeping deeply. So deeply that it was almost hard to connect the man before her with the one who had fiercely snarled, "Don't come any closer," only an hour ago.
Orihime stood by the bed, uncertain if she should leave. Just then, a set of hurried footsteps echoed from the end of the tiled hallway. She looked up instinctively and saw a tall man with a solemn, composed expression stop at the door. He glanced toward the bed first, and upon confirming the patient's identity, his shoulders seemed to sag with a visible sense of relief. Only then did he turn his gaze to her.
"And you are...?"
His tone was polite, yet laced with a professional sharpness that commanded attention.
"I-I'm the person who found him," Orihime replied quickly. "My name is Inoue..."
The man froze for a fraction of a second, a complex and weary expression crossing his face.
"...So it was you."
His voice was low, sounding like a mix of gratitude and a long-awaited sense of security. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out his ID, and showed it to her with a steady hand.
"I'm Shawlong. His junior... and, for better or worse, his partner."
Orihime nodded, her expression softening unconsciously. "Officer Shawlong... Officer Grimmjow, he—"
"The doctor just briefed me," Shawlong interrupted gently, his eyes never leaving the bed. "A concussion. Three days of observation."
He stood by the bedside, looking down at the unconscious man. He remained silent for a few seconds, as if confirming that the man was, indeed, still alive.
"...Senior went overboard again." The words were so low they were almost a mutter to himself.
Orihime blinked, slightly taken aback by the comment.
Shawlong gave a bitter, weary smile. Still looking at the man, he reached out and adjusted the blanket, tucking it around the detective's shoulders with a familiarity born of long partnership.
"He was actually off-duty today," he said, his voice calm but unable to hide the frustration beneath. "He caught wind of a sighting of the violent robbery suspect. The perpetrator is brutal—people have already been hurt. Senior didn't report it; he just went after him solo."
He paused, a shadow of a frown crossing his brow as if he were visualizing the scene. "He got ambushed from behind and went down."
Orihime’s fingertips twitched instinctively. The sheer recklessness of his actions sent a wave of genuine alarm through her.
"If he'd been beaten to death, it would’ve just meant the thugs were incompetent," Shawlong said, glancing at her before his tone shifted to something more somber. "Meeting you was his stroke of luck. Otherwise, he might’ve ended up stone-cold back there."
He paused, adding in a low murmur:
"That’s just how he is. Even if he’s dying, he wants to do it where no one can see."
"Does he... really hate people seeing him injured that much?" Orihime couldn't help but ask.
Shawlong blinked, then let out a short, dry laugh.
"Yeah. Especially his colleagues." He glanced at the figure on the bed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "He’s been through every kind of injury imaginable, but what he loathes most is being sent to the hospital. Once it turns into a big deal and reaches the Chief’s ears, things get... complicated."
These words felt like small stones sinking into her heart. She remembered the moment he stopped her from calling the police—that obsessive, bone-deep stubbornness.
"For a moment... I almost mistook him for a criminal," she whispered, the confession tasting bitter on her tongue.
Shawlong didn't disagree; he simply nodded, his expression knowing.
"That’s normal. Most people who meet him for the first time feel the same way." His face turned serious as he looked at her. "For the next few days, we might need you to cooperate further with the police." His tone was gentler now, but still laced with professional caution. He pulled a business card from his jacket and handed it to Orihime. "We’ll contact you later for a formal statement."
Orihime took a deep breath, gathering her scattered thoughts before looking up. "Yes... alright. I understand." She nodded, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the fatigue beginning to set in.
Shawlong checked a message on his phone, his thumb moving quickly across the screen. "I’ll head back to the station first to report the situation to the higher-ups." He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at the young teacher. "Do you need a ride home, Miss Inoue?"
The offer was natural, a logical end to her long day. But Orihime didn't answer right away. Her gaze instinctively drifted back to the hospital bed. The man was still deep in sleep, his brow slightly furrowed as if even in his dreams, he refused to truly let go.
"I think..." she hesitated, her voice soft but resolute. "I’d like to wait until he wakes up before I go."
Shawlong froze, a frown deepening on his face. "I don’t think that’s a good idea." His tone wasn't harsh, but it carried genuine concern. "Senior’s temper... it isn't exactly approachable. I’m worried that if he wakes up and finds himself trapped in a hospital, he might take his frustration out on you."
The image immediately flashed in Orihime’s mind—those sharp, beast-like blue eyes and that low, menacing growl. He was, by all accounts, a wounded predator ready to strike. Hardly someone easy to get along with.
She pursed her lips, but she didn't back down.
"I know," she said quietly. "But... I’m the one who found him, and the one who brought him here." She paused, searching for the right words to explain a feeling she barely understood herself. "If I don't see him wake up with my own eyes, I won't feel... at peace."
It wasn't just a sense of duty. It was a voice in her heart reminding her that in those darkening shadows by the wall, she had been the only one standing by his side.
Shawlong watched her, searching her face for a few silent seconds. Finally, he let out a soft sigh, acknowledging the quiet strength in her eyes. He stopped trying to dissuade her and simply nodded.
"...Fine. I’ll be back to check on him tomorrow morning. If anything happens, just press the call button for the nurse."
Before turning to leave, Shawlong reached into his jacket, flipping open his wallet. The crisp sound of bills rubbing together was startlingly loud in the quiet room. He pulled out two large bills and pressed them firmly into Orihime’s hand.
"Eh?" Orihime blinked, reflexively trying to push the money back. "I can't possibly take this—"
"Take it." Shawlong’s tone was quiet but brooked no refusal. "Since you’re insisting on staying, don't even think about walking home."
Orihime’s hand stilled in mid-air.
"It’s for the fare," he added sternly, his gaze narrowing slightly. "Use it for a taxi. Don't try to save it."
She gripped the crisp bills, her fingertips tightening as she felt the weight of his concern. "I... I understand. Thank you."
Shawlong nodded, satisfied that the matter was settled, and slipped out of the room.
The moment the door clicked shut, the air grew heavy and still again. She sank into the recliner by the bed, the cool plastic pressing against her back, and only then realized—she was still wearing her preschool apron. The light fabric was smudged with bits of yellow paint from earlier that day, and a small, slightly crumpled origami star a child had gifted her was still tucked safely in the pocket.
Orihime stared at it for a moment, then let out a soft, tired laugh. She gently untied the bow at her back, her movements slow and deliberate to avoid breaking the silence. As she folded the apron neatly into her bag, it felt as though she were tucking away the version of herself that belonged to the daylight.
She took out her phone, the screen blooming with a row of unread notifications from her friends—Tatsuki sending a funny video, Chizuru sharing a loud, colorful sticker.
—"How was your day?"
—"Did the kids prank you again?"
—"Are you off work? Did you get home safe?"
The messages were warm, familiar anchors to her normal life. Her fingers hovered over the glass, but in the end, she couldn't bring herself to mention Grimmjow or the sterile reality of the hospital room. She typed back light, casual replies. I’m a bit busy. The kids were adorable today. I’m already home.
A small, white lie to keep the shadows from touching them.
By the time she finished, it was 8:00 PM. The adrenaline that had sustained her finally ebbed away, leaving a hollow ache in her stomach and a crushing weight in her limbs. She was hungry, but exhaustion was faster—it surged through her, claiming every muscle at once.
She leaned her head back against the wall, tilting it just enough to watch the man on the bed. He was still deep in his slumber, his breathing rhythmic and heavy. In the dim light, a sudden, inexplicable sense of solitude and peace washed over her.
"I’ll just... sleep for a little bit," she whispered to the empty room.
Just for a moment. If he stirred, or if a nurse came by, she would be awake in a heartbeat. With that silent promise, Orihime’s eyelashes fluttered and finally closed.
The room held only the rhythmic, low beep of the monitor, the steady rise and fall of Grimmjow’s breath, and her own breathing—so light it was nearly a ghost of a sound.
傍晚的幼儿园安静得有些空旷。
儿童秋千在夕阳下拉出长长的影子，铁链被风吹得轻轻作响。织姬牵着最后一个还没被接走的小朋友，站在教室门口张望。
这是她来到这所幼儿园的第二个月。
织姬大学时选择了幼保系，并不是一时兴起。她的童年并不幸福，父母性格暴躁，经常以言语甚至肢体施加压力。那些年，她学会了小心翼翼、察言观色，也学会了如何在混乱中保护自己。正因如此，她对孩子的天真无邪格外珍惜——那些笑声、眼神里毫无隐藏的情感，对她而言，是过去缺失的温暖，也是她一直渴望守护的世界。
她喜欢和孩子相处，不只是因为他们可爱。她想学会如何照顾孩子、引导孩子，也想让他们在自己的小天地里，拥有安全感和自由。
因此，她努力学习幼保专业，参加各种实习和志愿活动，累积经验。毕业后，透过高中时期就要好的学姐——松本乱菊，得知了这所由她熟人经营的幼儿园有空缺。学姐对她的能力很有信心，推荐她过来。
于是，经过几次观察与面试，织姬踏进了这间小而温暖的幼儿园。这里招收的学童不多，老师能细致关注每个孩子的需要，最重要的是离她目前租住的公寓也只需要10分钟的路程。
今天本来不该只剩她一个人的。
但园长老家有点事要处理，明天才会回来。一起搭班的同事也临时身体不适先请假回家了。
「妈妈怎么还没来呀⋯」
小男孩叫做小翔，此时正撅着嘴，语气里带着一点不耐和委屈，模样却可爱得让人心软。
「快了唷。」她蹲下身，笑着安抚，「我们再等一下下。」
就在这时，小翔像想到什么似的，忽然凑近她耳边，轻声说起了悄悄话。
「老师老师～」
「嗯，怎么啦？」
织姬认真的回应着。
「后面那边，」小翔伸出食指，往幼稚园的后墙和储藏室方向指。「刚刚我看到了，有一个好大的人，他在流血⋯」「我跟其他小朋友说了，他们都不理我⋯」
「欸？」
织姬愣了一下，下意识顺着他指的方向看去。
后墙那一带本就少有阳光，接近黄昏时更显阴沈。树影在墙面上扭曲拉长，像无声的手指将视线切割成零碎的缝隙，隐约透出不安的气息。
那一瞬间，织姬没有立刻害怕。
小孩子的「看到」，有时候只是影子、有时候是想像。她在这两个月里，已经被孩子们的「有怪兽」、「有黑黑的东西」训练得很熟练了。
可偏偏——小翔说话时，没有笑。他没有夸张、没有兴奋，只是很小声地、很认真地说着。那种「只是转述自己看到的事」的语气，让人无法轻忽。
她蹲着与他视线齐平，心里慢慢浮上一种说不上来的不对劲。小翔下意识捏了一下她的手，那个力道很轻，却让她的心沉了一下。
「小翔，那个⋯」
她本来想再问清楚一点，小翔妈妈的身影正好在这时匆匆赶来大门口。
「啊，妈妈来了！」
小翔开心地跑了过去，织姬也随即上前和家长聊了几句在校状况，接着挥手道别。
铁门阖上的那一刻，清脆的声响在空荡的园内格外明显。
世界彷佛只剩下她一个人。
安静的空气突然变得沈甸甸的。
织姬站在原地，深吸了一口气，回头看向幼儿园深处。后墙的方向依旧静悄悄的，像什么都没有发生过。
她安慰自己，可能是孩子看错了，那个区域也放置了一些平常用不到的季节性布偶装——
也许⋯应该⋯是把圣诞老公公看成「很大的人」也说不定。
但她还是没办法说服自己。
心里的惴惴不安怎么也压不下去。
她硬着头皮，手摸了摸口袋确认有带手机以防万一后，一步步朝后墙的方向走去。
这时她脑中不合时宜地闪过早上家长和同事的对话。
——「你们知道吗？有个在逃的暴力抢劫犯，好像在我们这一区被目击了欸。」
——「真的假的？太可怕了吧，幼儿园这边也算附近耶。」
今天早上睡过头差点迟到，一心只想赶快打卡上班的她只是急急忙忙地随口附和，心想治安应该没那么糟。
现在，那些话却忽然全部涌了上来。她连忙甩甩头想驱赶走不好的想法。
但她才刚转过墙角，脚步就停住了。
那里真的有一个人。
跟小翔说的一样，的确是「很大的人」。
男人背靠着围墙坐倒在地，一条腿伸直，一条微弯，高大的身形几乎占满那一小片空地。暗影之中，他一头蓝色短发彷佛拒绝被夜色吞没般显眼，头微微侧歪着，额角的伤口渗着血，顺着脸颊滑落，滴在泥地上，鲜红得触目惊心。
织姬的呼吸瞬间卡在喉咙里。
原本涌到嘴边的尖叫被她硬生生吞了回去，一时间连该不该出声都拿不定主意。
「先生，你⋯」她试探性的开口又立刻停下，怕惊动对方。
那人却缓缓睁开了眼。
那是一双锐利的蓝眼，警戒的眼神明亮地不像受伤的人，在昏暗中一下就锁住了她。
「站住。」
他开口。
「别过来。」
声音低哑，却带着命令式的压迫感。
织姬愣了一下，立刻举起双手，示意自己没有恶意。「你受伤了，需要——」
「不用。」
他几乎是咬着牙说的，手撑着墙想站起来，却在动作的瞬间闷哼了一声，肩膀明显一沈。
织姬看得心头一紧，下意识又往前半步。
「先、先别动比较好⋯」
「我说了别过来！」
这一次，他的语气更冷了。那不是单纯的凶，而是长期习惯防备他人的那种冷硬，像随时准备反击。
她慢慢看向眼前的男人——
魁梧的身形、紧绷的肌肉、满身戾气，还有那双怎么看都不像普通路人的眼睛。
后背一瞬间发凉。
她忽然意识到，自己现在的立场——
在傍晚无人的幼儿园后墙，和一个来历不明、正在流血、拒绝求助的男人。
她艰难地咽下口水，心脏砰砰直跳，大脑却乱成一团，像在高速旋转的齿轮里抓取应对方式。
理智告诉她应该马上打电话叫救护车，可眼前的男人——
高大、魁梧、全身血迹斑斑，连眼神都带着一股杀气⋯
她根本无法判断，这人会不会接受帮助，或者瞬间反击。
她开始后悔自己没有早点看新闻，没有把今天早上同事提到的在逃抢劫犯事件放在心上。
她甚至连犯人的长相都不知道，却已经能感觉到，眼前这个男人——无论是外表还是语气——都无法让人联想到「好人」二字。
后怕如寒风一般从脊背袭来，她的手不自觉地握紧了围裙的布料。
理智与直觉在脑海里拉扯。
——她想帮他。
——她又怕自己的一个错误举动会招来危险。
她鼓起勇气，声音微微颤抖地开口：「那⋯我帮你叫救护车，好吗？」
男人不耐烦地捂着伤口，嘴里啧了一声，根本不给她一个眼神。看起来剧痛让他什么都不想多说。
织姬见他没有回答，试探又问了一句：「还、还是你需要报警⋯」
话还没说完，就被他厉声打断——
「不准报警。」
低沉而决绝的声音，带着不容置疑的冷意。
织姬被这一句吓了一跳，心脏猛地漏跳了一拍。
为什么不能报警？
这个念头几乎是本能地浮了上来——
难道⋯⋯他真的是坏人？
她的动作瞬间绷紧，原本想往前的脚步下意识停住了。
男人却已经无暇再注意她的反应。他试图再一次撑着墙站起来，身体却显然已经撑不住了。脚步才跨出一步，人便重重倒下。
这一次，他没有再动。
织姬愣了一瞬，才意识到——他已经昏过去了。
顾不上其他，她立刻掏出手机拨打119，报了救护车。
她一边焦急等待，一边时时注意他的情况，心跳像要跳出胸口。
他头上汩汩流出的鲜红让她勉强自己冷静下来，快步跑进办公室寻找干净的毛巾，尽量轻柔地压在他的伤口，暂时止血。
当她在做这一切时，背后却始终有种被注视的感觉，像有一道视线，正从围墙的另一侧落在她身上。
织姬以为是自己多心了，慌乱之中抬头瞥了一眼——
是个戴着鸭舌帽的男子，手臂攀在围墙上看向她和倒地的男人。
「⋯啊——」对到眼的那一刹那，男子就逃也似的飞奔离去，留下来不及惊呼的织姬。
就在此时，救护车的鸣笛声划破傍晚的空气，停在了幼儿园门口。
她匆匆跑上前和救护人员说明情况，快速锁上幼儿园的门，抓起包包就跟着上车。
织姬坐在担架旁，两手交叠放在大腿上。
车身每一次颠簸，男人眉头便微微抽动一下，却始终没有醒来。
她盯着他苍白的侧脸，脑袋一片混乱。
刚才那一句「不准报警」还在耳边反覆回响。
她不知道自己这样做到底对不对。
如果他真的不希望被送医呢？
如果她的介入，反而惹来麻烦——
「小姐，妳是第一个发现他的吗？」
救护人员的询问让她回过神来。
「是、是的⋯在幼儿园后墙那边。」她连忙点头，把事情从小朋友的提醒、到自己发现他的经过，一五一十地说了出来。
「他有说过什么吗？」
她迟疑了一下，还是诚实回答：「他⋯他不让我报警。」
救护人员交换了一个眼神，没有多说什么，只是加快了处理的动作。
那个眼神，让她心里又沉了一分。
到了医院，男人立刻被推进急诊室。明亮的灯光下，他身上的血迹显得更加刺眼。
医护人员一边处理伤口，一边开始确认他的身份。
「请问妳认识他吗？」
「不、不认识。」
织姬连忙摇头，「只是刚好遇到⋯」
护士点点头，伸手检查他外套与裤袋。
钱包、手机、钥匙，一样样放到托盘上。
就在她以为差不多结束时，护士的动作忽然顿了一下。
「⋯这是？」
织姬的呼吸瞬间凝结。
是一张识别证。
透明卡套里，照片上的男人表情冷硬又带着狂气，和刚才那双看向她蓝眼一模一样。
而名字清楚地印在下方——
葛力姆乔．贾卡杰克
刑事警察大队
重案组
「⋯⋯」
她一时说不出话来。
脑中像是有什么慢了半拍，才终于对上。
难怪那双眼睛那么锐利。
难怪即使重伤，气势依旧压迫。
织姬站在原地，心脏狠狠地撞了一下。
她回想起自己刚才的恐惧、犹豫，还有那一瞬间闪过的念头——『难道他是坏人』
脸颊忽然一阵发热。
如果他醒着，她甚至不敢想像，自己该怎么面对他。
「他是刑警。」医护人员低声说，「可能是在办案时受伤的。」
「那⋯他还好吗？我现在该怎么做⋯」
她自己都没发现，声音已经不自觉地放轻了。
「头部有外伤，初步看起来是脑震荡，需要观察，今晚会先留院。」
对方顿了顿，看了她一眼，「妳愿意留下联络方式吗？之后警方可能需要向妳确认状况。」
「好、好的。」
她点头的动作有些僵硬。
在被请到走廊等待时，她才终于发现，自己的手还在微微发抖。
刚才那个让她背脊发凉的男人，
那个让她不敢靠近、却又忍不住想帮忙的人——
原来是站在最前线、追逐危险的人。
织姬坐在长椅上，低头看着自己的手心。指尖因为紧张而发白，直到现在才慢慢回温。
她回想起那句低沉而决绝的话。
——「不准报警。」
如果他是警察，那句话就反而让人更在意。
是因为不想惊动同事？
还是伤得太重，不愿意让人看见自己的狼狈？
又或者……只是单纯地，不想被任何人看到自己倒下的样子？
她想不出答案。
只知道那一刻，他用那样的眼神看着她，像是在命令，又像是在勉强自己撑住。
想到这里，胸口忽然泛起一阵说不上来的闷。
织姬轻轻吐出一口气，双手在膝上交握，安静地坐在走廊的灯光下。
她救了一个陌生人。
却也在不知不觉间，踏进了一个她原本不会碰触的世界。
而那个世界的门，已经在她面前，悄悄地打开了一道缝。
医师最后给出的说法并不复杂，却让人无法轻忽。
头部遭到钝器重击，外伤本身不算轻，开放性伤口已缝合处理，且伴随短暂意识丧失与呕吐反应，初步判定为脑震荡，并存在颅内出血的潜在风险。
为了保险起见，医院决定让他住院观察至少三天。
病房里重新归于寂静。
监测仪器规律地发出低鸣，灯光映在白色墙面上，显得有些刺眼。
男人躺在病床上，额头缠着厚厚的绷带，蓝色的发丝被压得凌乱，脸色比方才倒在幼儿园后墙时还要苍白几分。
那股逼人的压迫感彷佛被灯光与白色床单一并吞没，只剩下略显粗重却规律的呼吸声，在静谧的空间里起伏。
他睡得很沈。
沈得让人几乎无法将眼前这个人，和不久前那个凶狠地命令她「别过来」的男人联想在一起。
织姬站在床边，一时不知道该不该离开。
就在这时，走廊那头传来略显急促的脚步声。
她下意识抬头，看见一名身形颀长、神情凝重的男人停在病房门口。对方先是朝病床里看了一眼，确认躺着的人后，肩膀像是终于松了一下，这才把视线转向她。
「请问⋯妳是？」
语气很礼貌，却带着职业性的警觉。
「我、我是发现他的人。」
织姬连忙回应，「我姓井上⋯⋯。」
对方明显怔了一瞬，随即露出一个复杂又疲惫的表情。
「⋯原来是妳。」
那声音很低，像是松了口气，又像是某种迟来的安心。
接着，他从外套内袋掏出证件，朝她微微示意。
「我是萧隆。」
「他的后辈⋯也姑且，算是搭档。」
织姬点了点头，表情不自觉地放柔了些。
「萧隆警官⋯葛力姆乔警官他——」
「医生刚跟我说过了。」
萧隆轻声打断，视线始终没有离开病床，「脑震荡，要观察三天。」
他站在床边，低头看着昏睡中的男人，沉默了几秒，像是在确认那人确实还好好活着。
「⋯学长又乱来了。」
那声音低得几乎像自言自语。
织姬微微愣住。
萧隆苦笑了一下，视线依然停留在那人身上，伸手拉了拉被子，替他把肩膀盖好。
「他今天其实是放假。」
语气平静，却藏不住无奈的情绪，「刚好收到暴力抢劫案的目击情报，嫌犯手段残暴，已经有人受伤。学长没通报，就单枪匹马去追了。」
他顿了顿，脑海里似乎想起画面，眉头轻轻皱起。
「结果被人从后面偷袭，受伤倒地。」
织姬的指尖不自觉地一缩。
这么莽撞的做法让她听了都惶恐。
「没被打死算歹徒蹩脚。」萧隆偏头看向她，语气忽然一转，「遇到妳，算他走运。不然搞不好早就凉在那里了。」
他停了一下，又低声补了一句：
「这个人就是这样，死也要死在没人看到的地方。」
「⋯他是不是，很不想被人看到自己受伤？」
织姬忍不住问。
萧隆一怔，随即失笑。
「是啊。」
「尤其是同事。」
他看了一眼病床上的人，声音压得更低。
「大大小小的伤都受过，他最痛恨的就是被送进医院。」
「事情一闹大，传到长官那里，就会变得很麻烦。」
这些话像小石子，在她心里沈了下去。
她想起他制止她报警的那一瞬间，那股近乎执拗的冷硬。
「我刚才⋯差点把他当成坏人。」她小声说。
萧隆没有反驳，只是点了点头。
「很正常。」
「第一次遇到他的，大多都会这样。」
说完这句话，他忽然正色起来，看向她。
「这几天，可能还要麻烦妳再配合警方。」
语气比刚才温和，却多了一分慎重。
接着从外套口袋摸出一张名片递到织姬手上。
「我们之后会再联络妳，请妳过来做一份正式笔录。」
织姬深吸了一口气，像是把那些乱成一团的思绪重新收拢起来，这才抬起头。
「嗯⋯好的，没问题」
她点点头，努力让自己的声音听起来平稳。
萧隆看了她一眼，似乎也没有再多说什么，只是低头确认了一下手机上的讯息，随后将它收回口袋。
「那我先回警队一趟，得把状况跟上面汇报。」
他顿了顿，语气放缓了一些，「需要我载井上小姐回去吗？」
这个提议来得自然又理所当然。
织姬却没有立刻回答。
她的视线不自觉地又落回病床上。男人依旧沉睡着，眉头微微皱起，像是在梦里也不肯真正放松。
「我想……」
她迟疑了一下，才轻声说出口，「等他醒来，再回去。」
萧隆明显一愣，眉头随即皱了起来。
「我不觉得这是个好主意。」
他语气不算强硬，却带着明确的担忧，「呃⋯学长的脾气不是很好。我担心他一醒来发现自己在医院，会迁怒到妳身上⋯」
织姬闻言，脑海里立刻浮现不久前的画面——
那双锐利得像野兽般的蓝眼、低哑却带着威吓意味的声音，确实像是一头受了伤、随时可能反击的猛兽。
怎么看，都称不上是好相处的人。
她抿了抿唇，却没有因此退缩。
「我知道⋯」她小声说。
「可是⋯人是我发现的，也是我把他送进医院的。」
她停了一下，像是在寻找合适的词句。
「如果没有亲眼看到他醒来，我总觉得⋯有点不安心。」
那不是责任感，也不是什么了不起的觉悟。
只是心里有个声音一直在提醒她——
在那个傍晚，在那面阴影里，她是唯一站在他身边的人。
萧隆看着她，沉默了几秒。
最后，他像是轻轻叹了口气，没有再劝阻，只是点了点头。
「⋯好吧。」
「那我明早再回来看他。有什么状况，妳直接按铃叫护理师就好。」
转身要离开前，萧隆忽然停下脚步，伸手摸向外套内侧，低头翻开钱包。
纸钞摩擦的声音在安静的病房里显得特别清楚。
他抽出两张大钞，直接塞到织姬的手里。
「欸？」
织姬一愣，摇摇头反射性地就要推回去。「我不能收—」
「拿着。」
萧隆的语气不重，却不容拒绝。
他低声补了一句：「既然妳坚持留在这里，回家时就别走路了。」
织姬的动作顿住。
「这是车费。」
他神情严肃的说道。
「用来打车。别省。」
她握着那两张钞票，指尖微微收紧。
「嗯……我知道了。」
最后，她只能这么说。
萧隆点了点头，像是事情终于告一段落，转身离开病房。
门阖上的瞬间，空气再度静了下来。
她坐在病床旁的躺椅上，背靠着冰凉的椅背，这才后知后觉地发现——
自己身上还穿着幼儿园的围裙。
淡色布料上还留着白天不小心沾到的颜料痕迹，口袋里塞着小朋友折给她的小纸星星。
织姬愣了一下，忍不住轻笑起来。
她轻手轻脚地解开背后的蝴蝶结，动作刻意放得很慢，生怕发出一点声响。围裙被她仔细折好，放进包包里，像是把那个仍属于白天、属于幼儿园老师的自己暂时收起来。
她从口袋里拿出手机。
荧幕一亮，跳出一整排未读通知。
来自好友龙贵传来的搞笑影片，还有千鹤分享的可爱动画贴图。
——「今天过得怎么样？」
——「小朋友有没有又捉弄妳？」
——「下班了吗？有没有平安回家？」
一条一条，全都是熟悉又温暖的关心。
她指尖停顿了一下，终究还是没有提起葛力姆乔的事，也没有说自己此刻其实坐在医院的病房里。
她回了些轻松的话。
说今天有点忙。
说小朋友很可爱。
说已经回到家了喔。
——以免她们担心。
这样⋯也算是善意的谎言吧。
讯息回完，她才抬头看了眼时间。
晚上八点。
刚才一连串的混乱让她几乎忘了时间的流动，此刻胃里才慢半拍地传来空空的感觉。
⋯有点饿呢。
但比起饥饿，倦意却更早一步涌了上来，像是终于被允许松懈的身体，一下子把积攒的疲惫全数摊开。
她靠回椅背，侧过脸，看向病床上的男人。
他依旧睡着，呼吸规律而沉稳。
那一瞬间，她忽然觉得安心。
「我⋯应该可以睡一下下吧。」
她在心里小声地对自己说。
只是眯一下下就好。
等他醒了，或者医护人员需要她，她就立刻起来。
这样想着，织姬慢慢阖上眼睛。
病房里只剩下监测仪器规律而低沉的鸣声，还有葛力姆乔平稳却略显粗重的呼吸，以及她自己，轻得几乎听不见的吐息。