Katsuki sat motionless in the chair beside the hospital bed, his gaze fixed on the floor. His usual explosive demeanor was nowhere to be found; instead, his expression was unreadable, almost hollow. Beside him, Agis lay still, their eyes focused on the ceiling, lost in a world of silence. Katsuki wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. They never had when it mattered most.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be there for them like they were for him. But he’d failed. He had always kept his distance, kept up the hard exterior, thinking that was what everyone expected. But with Agis, it had always been different. Despite his best efforts to keep them at arm's length, something about them had made him start to drop his guard.

He never thought they’d trust him enough to leave the door open, to let him in whenever. It made him feel… weirdly responsible, but in the best way. He hadn’t really realized that until now.

He should’ve been there. He should’ve known something was wrong and checked in more often. Instead, he’d kept his routine, only showing up when it suited him, thinking they’d be fine on their own. It was easy to believe that, easy to pretend everything was okay, but now, seeing them here, he realized how wrong he'd been.

Kirishima had been the one to rush in and call for help, but Katsuki was the one who had been frozen in the doorway, heart sinking at the sight of them. His mind raced with guilt, the sting of regret gnawing at him. He should’ve known. He should’ve done more.

But now, all he could do was sit there in the quiet, unable to find the right words. He’d never been good at this. Comfort wasn’t something he knew how to give, especially not when he felt so damn helpless. He couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, this was his fault.