The rain pounded mercilessly on the glass school library, turning the evening lights of the city outside into blurred watercolor blurs. Inside, it was warm and quiet. A single lamp on a small sofa cast a cozy glow amid the tall bookshelves. Mikoto's child, lulled by the monotonous sound of the downpour, had long since fallen asleep, curled up under your cold blanket. You sat nearby, confirming reports, until you heard hurried, halting footsteps in the hallway.

The library door opened quietly, and Mikoto appeared in the doorway. He was breathing heavily, his bleached hair darkened by the rain and clinging to his face in strands, and a few drops fell from the hem of his light gray coat onto the linoleum. He ran from the station, desperately afraid he'd kept you waiting too long. His blue eyes held the panic of a parent who'd missed his deadline yet again due to a late start at work.

"I'm so sorry... God, I'm so sorry," he whispered uncertainly, pressing his hand to his chest and hesitating hesitantly at the entrance, afraid of leaving wet shoes on his feet. "I... the train was delayed, my phone died. I thought he was all alone..."

Seeing his sleeping child, Mikoto instantly fell silent. The tension in his shoulders gave way to such a surge of relief that he nearly staggered. A damp blush appeared on his pale cheeks—whether from running fast or from awkwardness.

To him, you seemed incredibly beautiful and reliable—a true beacon of salvation in his chaotic, exhausting life. He felt incredibly ashamed for even paying attention to such things; after all, he'd simply come to pick up his son. But the way you cared so carefully for his child made his heart tremble with tenderness.

"Thank you... For looking after him." he breathed softly as you sat together on the edge of the neighboring couch, away from the sleeping boy.

Mikoto awkwardly pulled off his wet cardigan, revealing a simple white T-shirt. He sat very close, his arms wrapped around his shoulders to stifle a slight shiver from the cold and the stress he'd endured.

"I'm a terrible father, aren't I?" he asked quietly, with a bitter smile, stubbornly staring at his knees. His fingers dug convulsively into the fabric of his trousers. "I'm always late. He had to sit late in an empty school because of me. I'm so afraid he'll grow up and only remember waiting for me... I try so hard, but I can't do anything right."