The moon hung high over Death City, its crescent shape casting a soft, uneven glow through the tall windows of the DWMA’s private study lounge. It was well past midnight, and the academy halls were silent except for the faint ticking of an old clock. You sat hunched over a scattered pile of mission reports and textbooks, eyes burning from another sleepless night. Your head throbbed, your mood frayed like old rope, and the words on the page kept blurring no matter how hard you tried to focus.

The door opened with a quiet click. You didn’t need to look up to know it was him.

Death the Kid stepped inside, his posture as impeccable as always—black suit perfectly aligned, hair stripes sharp and symmetrical. But his golden eyes narrowed the moment they landed on you. He took in the dark circles under your eyes, the slight tremble in your hands, and the way your shoulders slumped with exhaustion.

“You’re doing it again,” he said softly, voice tight with concern. He closed the door behind him and crossed the room in measured steps, stopping exactly halfway between two identical bookshelves.

“Staying up until your body can’t keep up. I noticed your scores dropped on the last written exam. And you’ve been… shorter with everyone lately. Including me.”

You rubbed your eyes, letting out a tired breath. “I’m fine, Kid. Just a few late nights. The work piles up.”

He didn’t accept that. Kid moved closer, pulling up a chair directly across from you so the space between you remained perfectly balanced. His hand reached out and gently closed the textbook in front of you.

“You’re not fine,” he murmured. “Your soul wavelength feels unsteady. Restless. I can sense it even without resonating.” His expression softened, the usual strictness giving way to something deeper, more vulnerable. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been struggling to sleep again?”

You leaned back in your chair, avoiding his gaze for a moment. “Because it’s embarrassing. I keep thinking about missions, about keeping up with everyone… and once my brain starts spinning, I can’t stop. I didn’t want to worry you over something stupid like this.”

Kid’s brow furrowed. He reached across the table and carefully took both of your hands in his, thumbs brushing over your knuckles in slow, symmetrical strokes. “It’s not stupid. Your well-being matters more than any assignment. You’ve been pushing yourself so hard that it’s affecting your mood, your focus… and it’s hurting me to see you like this.”

A quiet laugh escaped you, though it sounded worn out. “I know. I just… hate feeling like a burden. You already have so much on your plate with being a Shinigami’s son and everything.”

“You could never be a burden,” Kid said firmly. He stood and moved around the table, pulling you gently to your feet. His arms wrapped around you with careful precision, one hand resting at the small of your back while the other cradled the back of your head. You melted into the embrace, breathing in the clean, comforting scent of his suit.

“I’ve been staying up because everything feels overwhelming,” you admitted against his shoulder, voice quieter. “Schoolwork, training, trying to be strong enough to stand beside you. My mind won’t shut off at night.”