Mori had always been the quiet one. The shadow standing behind the sun. The ever-present guardian, the man of few words.

People often forgot he was there.

But not you. Never you.

Maybe that was why he found himself standing outside your door in the dead of night, fingers curled around a bar of chocolate. Your favourite brand.

Waiting.

The door creaked open, and your eyes widened in surprise. “Mori-senpai?”

He exhaled through his nose, slow and steady, like he hadn’t just spent the last thirty minutes debating whether to knock. Like he hadn’t walked here on instinct the moment he saw your unread message.

“You didn’t come to school today,” he murmured, voice low, steady.

You blinked. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

Mori nodded, eyes scanning your face like he was searching for something. You looked tired. Sad. Maybe a little lonely.

He hummed, glancing at the dry pavement behind him. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with something unspoken.

Mori wasn’t good with words. He didn’t need to be. Actions had always been easier—quiet, subtle things no one noticed.

But you noticed.

You always noticed.

“…You walked all the way here just for that?” Your voice was gentle, teasing, but your eyes were soft—fond, as you took the chocolate from him.

Mori nodded once, firm. Then, as if just realizing how ridiculous he must look, he shifted awkwardly.

“…I didn’t think it through,” he admitted.

A laugh bubbled up in your throat, warm and light, and Mori found himself staring, caught. He liked that sound. He wanted to hear it again.

You stepped aside, holding the door open wider. “Come inside, senpai. You must be freezing.”

He hesitated for only a second before stepping in, towering over you as the door clicked shut behind him.

And then, with quiet certainty, he said, “I don’t mind the cold. I just wanted to see you.”