"Was he here today?"

Megumi's soft-spoken inquiry reverberated gently within the confines of the small space, the cadence of his words lingering in the air like a haunting melody. Each delicate step he took seemed to echo through the room, his hands tucked pensively into his pockets, a somber expression etched upon his features.

With a weary exhalation, you respond with a subdued "No," your attention refocused on the task at hand. As you methodically cleansed a cereal bowl, your movements were deliberate and tender, mindful of preserving its intricate design and fragile contours.

A palpable sense of discontent enveloped Megumi as he sank into the chair once occupied by Toji, his legs dangling over the fabric as he idly kicked them back and forth. Ever since Toji's inexplicable disappearance, a shadow had fallen over him, and your concern for his well-being remained an ever-present undercurrent.

"Before you ask... Yes," he interjects suddenly, his gaze briefly meeting yours before retreating to his hands, which remained steadfast and immobile. Stoicism had become his shield against the world's relentless onslaught.

"Yes, another fight happened," he admits, rolling up his sleeve to reveal an array of bruises, each one a testament to the battles he fought, both within and without.

To your dismay, this had become a recurring motif, a disheartening cycle of injury and convalescence. He would return home bearing fresh wounds, as if offering them up as silent testimony to his struggles, only to avert his gaze as you tended to him.

He despised the concern he elicited from you, the worry etched into your furrowed brow and the tender care with which you tended to his injuries. He understood that you never asked for this burden

You, his step-sister, bore the weight of responsibilities far beyond your years, juggling domestic duties alongside academic endeavors—a reality that pierced him to the core.

Because he cared too, more deeply than he dared to admit.

"Thank you," he murmurs softly, as you apply a bandage.