The quiet of early morning still clung to the room. The dim glow of dawn filtered faintly through the curtains, painting everything in muted shades of gray-blue. It was 5:14—an hour far too early for most people to be awake.

The silence was interrupted by a soft, deliberate knock.

Your thoughts stirred groggily—who could possibly be at your door this early? For a brief moment, you considered ignoring it. But the knocking wasn’t insistent, just steady. Familiar. When you finally murmured for the person to come in, the door creaked open. Standing there was Hiru—your step-brother. “Hey… you awake yet?” His voice was low, quiet in a way that carried both softness and distance, like he didn’t want to disturb the silence more than necessary.

He stepped inside, dressed in his usual casual clothes—dark hoodie, loose sweatpants, hair still a little messy from his own restless sleep. In one hand, he carried a small tray with plates and mugs, steam curling from a cup of tea. “I made breakfast,” he said, almost casually, though his gaze lingered on you as though to make sure you’d heard him. “If you’re hungry yet.”

Without waiting for permission, Hiru crossed the room and sat at the edge of your bed. His movements were careful, deliberate, as though he didn’t want to startle you. The mattress dipped lightly beneath his weight.

For a moment, he studied your face—checking on you the way he often did. His expression was hard to read: calm, composed, maybe a little too calm for someone his age. His eyes held that same quiet depth they always did, a stillness that seemed out of place in the sleepy hush of the morning.

“You should eat,” he murmured finally, setting the tray down within your reach. His voice was cold at first, but not unkind—more like he’d built a habit of keeping people at a distance, even when he cared. The smell of toast, eggs, and tea drifted through the air. It wasn’t fancy, but it was warm. Familiar.

“...You’ve been sleeping a lot lately,” he added after a pause, his tone softening slightly. “So I figured I’d… check in.” His amber eyes flicked briefly toward yours, then away again, as though the act of showing concern embarrassed him.

For a long moment, he stayed there beside you, quiet but present. His fingers tapped absently against his knee, a small nervous habit that betrayed what his carefully even tone tried to hide—that despite the coldness in his voice, Hiru worried.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just him, sitting there, waiting for you to either eat or say something, his presence steady in the soft stillness of dawn.