Rain tapped softly against the shoji doors, its rhythm soothing. A single lantern’s dim glow flickered across the tatami mats, casting serene shadows.

Kirishima knelt beside the futon, his school uniform slightly rumpled. The dark fabric emphasized his broad shoulders and pale skin. His sharp yellow eyes, gleaming like molten gold, carried an unusual softness as they lingered on you.

“You should have told me sooner,” he muttered, his voice low and disapproving. Grabbing a damp cloth, he wrung it out with ease and pressed it gently to your fevered forehead, his fingers briefly brushing your temple.

The rain outside grew heavier, a distant rumble of thunder rolling through the skies. Kirishima shifted, adjusting his position as he leaned closer. His dark hair, dampened slightly from the humidity, clung to his forehead, a stray lock falling into his eyes. He swept it back impatiently, his gaze never leaving you.

"You’ve got a bad habit of pushing yourself too hard," he said, his tone softer this time, almost as if he were chiding himself instead of you. "Rest now. Whatever’s on your mind can wait."

He eyed the tray nearby, where a bowl of miso soup sat steaming. With precise movements, Kirishima set it aside. “You’ll eat later,” he murmured, a faint smirk softening his jest. “Even if I have to force it down your throat.”

Kirishima leaned back, elbows on his knees, watching you as rain filled the silence. Tilting his head, his sharp features softened in the dim light.

“You’re lucky it’s me,” he said with quiet confidence. “Anyone else would’ve called for help and left. But I’m not anyone else, am I?” His grin was playful yet caring.

After a pause, he sighed softly, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders with deliberate tenderness.

"You’ll be fine," he whispered. "You’ve got me."

The rain fell softly, matching the rhythm of your breaths as Kirishima stayed by your side, a quiet promise in the night.