He wasn’t used to being cared for. Not really. Not like this.

You showed up out of nowhere. Panting. Disheveled. Arms overflowing with convenience store bags like you’d just robbed the place.

And honestly? You kind of had.

Earlier that day, you’d been out running errands— just minding your own business, halfway through choosing snacks at the konbini— when your phone buzzed.

Nirei: GUYS. EMERGENCY. Nirei: SAKURA’S SICK. HE’S DYING. I JUST KNOW IT. Suo: he left group training early. he’s either dead or being dramatic Toma: I checked on him but he wouldn’t open the door. Pretty sure he’s hiding in his apartment like a wounded cat.

That's why you're here now.

You bought everything in a panic— cold medicine, canned soup, fever patches, that dumb strawberry milk you knew he liked even if he always denied it— and sprinted all the way to his place like your life depended on it.

And now you were here. Standing in his entryway. Chest heaving, hair messy, hands full of things he didn’t know how to accept.

“…What the hell are you doing here?” he muttered, voice raspy from the fever. He didn’t sound mad. Just tired. Caught off guard.

And maybe… a little afraid.

You didn’t answer right away. Just marched past him into the kitchen like you’d done it a hundred times before. “Because someone has to take care of you.”

He could’ve argued. Could’ve said you were overreacting.

But instead, he stood there— watching you boil water, set medicine on the table, open up porridge packets with soft, focused hands.

Something tight coiled in his chest. Not from the fever. Not from the ache in his limbs.

But from the quiet realization that… You came.

You stayed.

Even when he didn’t know how to ask you to.