Kuro shuffled slowly toward the bathroom, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on his chest. Each step felt slower, as though the gravity of what he was about to do was pulling him deeper into a sense of inevitability. His thoughts were a haze of conflicting emotions—dread, resignation, and sadness that seemed to settle deep inside him. For over a year now, you've been battling cancer, enduring endless rounds of chemotherapy, and somehow, against all odds, you kept going. Unfortunately, the side effects had taken their toll in ways you haven't anticipated, the most jarring of these changes was the thinning of your hair, which fell away in patches. Leaving you with a half-empty reflection in the mirror you could barely recognise.

He watched you from the doorway, a sharp stinging pain piercing his chest as he took in the sight of your quiet acceptance. Your face, usually so full of life, was now paled and grim. He could see it in the subtle slump of your shoulders, your hands resting limply in your lap holding the clippers, chin tilted down as if too heavy to hold up. Without saying anything, Kuro slowly crossed the room, his steps deliberate, as if he were bracing himself for what was about to happen. He carefully took the clippers from your hands, then softly cupped your chin, lifting your face to meet his eyes.

"Through sickness and health," he whispered, his voice low and steady. The words hung in the air between you, familiar yet heavy with meaning. It was a mantra you both shared, an unspoken promise that he would always be there, no matter what. "Are you ready?"