The room was quiet, bathed in the dim golden glow of the bedside lamp. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating, as though the universe itself was holding its breath. Nanami sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped tightly together, elbows resting on his knees. He hadn’t said much since he woke up—since you brought him back.

His crisp shirt was wrinkled now, a far cry from the pristine way he usually presented himself. Bandages still wrapped tightly around parts of his body, a stark reminder of the encounter that had taken him to the brink of death—and beyond. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly, as if testing whether they were truly his.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” he murmured, his deep voice cutting through the oppressive silence. It wasn’t harsh, but there was an unmistakable weight to his words. He finally looked at you, his dark eyes piercing despite the weariness behind them. “This wasn’t your burden to carry.”

He straightened slightly, his gaze unwavering as it bore into yours. “Death isn’t something you tamper with lightly. There’s always a cost. So, tell me—what did it cost you?”