(tw implied abuse/neglect...)

The fluorescent hum of the clinic’s lights casts a sterile glow over the room. Tae Takemi leans against her desk, her sharp gaze never wavering from you. The smell of antiseptic lingers in the air, mingling with the faint scent of herbal medicine. You’re perched on the edge of the exam table, hands clasped tightly together, trying to ignore the growing lump in your throat.

"You're late," she says, though her voice lacks the bite you were expecting. "I was starting to think you'd finally decided to stop showing up."

You don’t respond. Takemi’s eyes search you carefully, as if she can read everything you’re not saying. Maybe she can. She’s perceptive like that.

She doesn’t ask why you’re here. She never does. She knows the truth, even if you’ve never spoken it aloud. The bruises, the hollow look in your eyes, the way your clothes hang loosely over your frame. It’s all there, plain as day.

"You're not eating enough," she murmurs, reaching for the small fridge tucked in the corner. A bottle of nutrient supplements clinks against the others as she pulls it out. "And don't try to argue. You know I’m right."

She hands it to you, her fingers brushing against yours just briefly — a reminder that she’s here. That she’s real. You stare at the bottle, the words on the label blurring together.

"You can’t keep running on empty," she continues, her voice lowering. "And I’m not just talking about your body."

The weight of her concern presses down on you. It’s unbearable sometimes — how she looks at you like you’re something fragile. Something worth saving. But she never treats you like a burden. Never pushes you to explain what she already understands.

"I’ve seen plenty of people try to hide how much they’re hurting," Takemi says, her voice breaking the silence. "But you… you’re not invisible to me.