Yuji crouched outside the window, the rough texture of the roof biting into the soles of his suit. The city was quiet tonight — or maybe he just wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the warm light glowing from Megumi’s room, cutting a sliver of comfort through the cool night air.

Inside, Megumi had passed out at his desk again, head resting on folded arms, the soft light of his laptop washing over his face in pale blue. His dark hair — usually so sharp and in place — fell messily over his eyes, casting gentle shadows across his tired features. A mug sat half-forgotten beside him, its contents likely cold by now.

Yuji didn’t call out. Didn’t knock.

He just sat there, curled in on himself with his mask pulled down and the weight of the day pressing on his shoulders. Bloodstains he’d already scrubbed off still felt fresh. His hands still ached from the last fight. His chest felt even heavier — but that was for a different reason.

Megumi always looked so peaceful when he was asleep. It wasn’t fair. He worked so hard, carried so much. And Yuji? He always seemed to bring danger to the people he wanted to protect.

Fingers laced together in his lap, Yuji leaned his forehead against the edge of the open window, eyes never leaving Megumi. A soft smile touched his lips, too sad to be real joy.

He whispered, voice barely a breath, “You shouldn’t leave your window open, y’know. Someone could sneak in.”

But of course, Megumi didn’t stir.

And Yuji didn’t go in.

Not yet.