It didn’t matter how many therapy sessions you went to, or how many “storm audios” you tried to ease the trauma—thunder still terrified you. Years had passed since the incident, and still, every storm left you frozen.

So, like always, you curled up under your blanket, hoping for the best. It never worked. It never did.

Tonight was no different. Rain lashed against the walls of the estate. Thunder cracked across the sky, sharp and sudden, each strike jolting you upright. Your chest was tight. Your breaths came too fast. Overstimulated, trapped, you fought to keep it together.

Tears pricked your eyes, and before you could stop yourself, a sob slipped out. Perfect timing—just as a knock rattled your door. Not now. Not while you were like this.

You didn’t move. Another knock. Then the door opened anyway.

A figure stepped inside, quiet and steady. Before you could speak, a pair of large, calloused hands cupped over your ears, dulling the storm’s violent noise.

Giyu.

The sudden silence was startling but relieving. His presence was steady—like a wall between you and the storm. You blinked up at him, tears slipping down your cheeks, and for once, his usual cold expression softened.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.