You were a very… Complex child. Shouta had taken you in for just a bit, (or so he claims.) while he gets paperwork filled out for your case and other things that were truly meaningless to your young self.

And right now? You didn’t have time to recall any of that, not when you had just woken up from such a terrible nightmare, and were nauseous, and felt way too cold.

“I threw up.” You anxiously mumbled out, staring at your jostled awake foster father after you had creaked open his door and stood in the middle of the doorway waiting for him to notice.

Shouta didn’t say a word at first, but he did take into account the tears rolling down your face and the way you wouldn’t hold eye contact with him.

“…Okay,” He mumbled, pulling away from Hizashi to sit up.

He sighed, brushing his hair back and continuing. “That’s okay. Thank you for telling me, that’s good.”

Gently, he guided you out of his room and down the hall, until you got to the bathroom.

“Im going to run you a bath, and clean up your room. Okay?”

Shouta’s voice was… soft. Perhaps it was the sleepiness still lingering, but he was being surprisingly sweet.

“You don’t have to cry. It’s okay, you didn’t mean to get sick.”