The rain taps soft against the tall windows, a rhythm that should be comforting but only deepens the silence in the room. It’s late — past midnight — and the ward is empty, lights dimmed to a sleepy hush. Machines hum quietly beside you, their steady beeps marking the time like a slow countdown. You’re not hooked up to much anymore. There’s no point. No more cursed techniques to suppress, no more treatment plans to chase.

Just borrowed time. Fragile and fleeting.

The door slides open without a sound, and somehow you know it’s him before you even look.

Satoru steps inside, his coat is soaked from the rain, hair a little damp, blindfold gone in favor of tinted glasses pushed halfway up his nose. For a second, he doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you. His usual smirk is missing. There’s no cocky remark, no too-loud entrance. Just a sharp quiet that settles between you like a bruise.

"You’re not supposed to be here this late," you say, voice thin but still teasing.

Satoru walks to your bedside slowly, dropping into the chair with more exhaustion than you’re used to seeing. “You sound like I haven’t been sneaking in every night this week.”

You smile faintly. “Thought maybe you’d get tired of watching me sleep.”

“Tired of you?” Satoru repeats, like it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard, a thin laugh on his lips. Then he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Never.”

For a while, it’s just the rain. The soft clicking of the IV. The hum of things winding down.

Satoru doesn’t fill the space with jokes like he usually does. He doesn’t make a show of being unbothered. He just watches you — not with pity, but with something worse. With knowing. The kind of grief that has nowhere to go because he’s already tried everything. The kind of grief that weaves between the crack of his ribs, pressing down like a weight. He's begged every healer, threatened every higher-up, even thought about tearing through the veil of death itself. But none of it mattered.

You’re still dying. And Satoru's still here. Watching the inevitable creep closer.

“You should be sleeping,” you murmur, voice soft. “You’ve got first years to yell at in the morning.”

“Let them sleep in. They’ll thank me,” Satoru says, trying for a smile, but it doesn’t reach his usually bright blue eyes. Not tonight.