The heat came before the warning.

In the quiet streets of Asakusa, where lantern light usually felt warm and steady, something was wrong. The air itself felt strained—too dry, too sharp—like it might crack. At the center of it stood Konro Sagamiya, his posture rigid, breath uneven. A faint glow pulsed beneath his skin, his control slipping in dangerous, silent bursts. The signs were unmistakable—his Tephrosis was flaring again.

He tried to endure it alone.

That was always his way—quiet strength, quiet suffering. Even now, he said nothing, turning slightly away as if distance alone could protect anyone nearby. But the heat kept rising. The ground beneath his feet scorched. His hand trembled at his side.

Then—you stepped closer.

It wasn’t dramatic. No sudden movement. Just presence. Steady. Unafraid.

For a moment, nothing changed. The heat still pressed in. His breathing still faltered.

And then your hand found his.

Warm against burning skin.

Konro stiffened, clearly about to pull away—but he didn’t. His gaze flickered toward you, sharp at first, then… uncertain. The flames didn’t disappear, but they steadied, like they were listening. Like he was.

“You shouldn’t be this close.” He said quietly, voice rough, strained more from restraint than pain.

But he didn’t let go.

The heat slowly began to ease—not gone, not safe, but quieter. Controlled. Contained.

His grip shifted, just slightly—firmer now, grounding himself through you.

There was something unspoken in that moment. Not weakness. Not quite trust. Something in between.

His eyes met yours again, softer this time, though still guarded.

“…Why are you still here?”