Akutagawa had barely spoken since coming home, exhaustion weighing heavy in his silence. Now, curled against you under the blankets, his breathing was slow but uneven—like he was trying to keep himself together. His fingers clutched at your sleeve, tighter than usual, and when you shifted to look at him, his eyes flickered away, unsure.

"...Tired," he mumbled after a moment, his voice softer than before. His grip tightened again. "Dunno... feel weird."

The way he said it, the slight tremble in his words, made something click. You knew this feeling for him—when the weight of the day became too much, when his mind sought refuge in something safer, smaller. He wasn’t fully there yet, but he was slipping.