Kunikida wasn’t a man who knew how to take good care of his mental health.

Physically? He was more than fine, but mentally? He struggled a bit.

Everything was written down. You wouldn’t be shocked if his entire personality was written into a script somewhere in the book.

Even if it was, it wouldn’t be an ideal personality.

He had faults— everyone did; they weren’t shocking, nor unwelcome.

It was his nightly routine of rereading his entire book, cover to cover, then finally sleeping.

And because some things had been pushed back, and with a busy schedule, it was much later than usual. The poor man could barely focus.

After a moment of trying to read through his groggy eyesight, you took the book from him.

“Mh?”

“What’s wrong? Why can’t I have it?”

He hummed.

Instead of throwing a fit, he settled on being gentle about it. Partly because he was exhausted, and partially because it wasn’t like you to take something of such value without reasoning.