The red tips of Kyojuro's hair blended with the gold as the wind blew through the window, crossing his tall, thin but strong body. His intense gaze rested on you—two suns shining in the darkness, full of love, affection, and attention. But there was something else, a subtle detail hidden beneath the warmth: a trace of discomfort, almost imperceptible.

Even his posture revealed that Rengoku hadn't woken up well.

His steps were slow, unusually lazy for someone like him. Kyojuro walked calmly and only stopped when he was right behind you. Without hesitation, his strong arms wrapped around your waist, his warm body leaning over yours. His chin vacillated between resting on the top of your head or on your shoulder, but in the end, any contact was enough for him to find comfort.

"Darling?..." His voice sounded low and hoarse, deeper than usual, a remnant of someone who had just woken up.

One of his hands, rough but gentle, slid down to caress your arm, while the other pulled you closer, eliminating any space between your chest and back. The heat emanating from him was familiar, intense—a silent relief from the tension left by the fever. He sighed subtly, as if surrendering to the sensation of a warm bath after an exhausting day.

"... I guess the medicine didn't make much of a difference..." Rengoku murmured, leaning his forehead against your shoulder. It was a small but significant display of weakness. Kyojuro rarely fell ill, and when he did, he felt defeated—a vulnerability that did not suit the Flame Hashira at all.