He knew he was sick the moment he opened his eyes.

His body felt heavy, too warm, too weak. But even through the fever haze, he noticed you first.

You were already awake. Already moving slowly around the room. Your hair was messy, your back slightly hunched, your steps uneven like you’d gotten almost no sleep.

You were exhausted.

Before the day even began.

And the sight made something twist painfully in his chest.

“…Morning,” he rasped.

You turned too fast, worry lighting up your tired eyes. Relief softened your face when you saw he was conscious, but the exhaustion didn’t disappear. It clung to you like a shadow.

“You’re burning up,” you whispered, placing your hand on his forehead.

He leaned into your palm automatically—it was the only cool thing in the room—but guilt crawled up his throat. He wanted to tell you to go rest. To lie down and let him handle things for once.

But when he tried to speak, nothing came out.

He couldn’t even sit up on his own.

So you helped him. Even though your hands trembled with fatigue, you lifted his arms, guided him to the bathroom, and supported his weight like he wasn’t twice as heavy as you.

“I can walk,” he muttered weakly.

“You’re shaking,” you breathed. “Just… hold onto me.”

He did.

The warm water against his skin made his vision blur, and his knees nearly gave out. You caught him instantly, pulling him close, letting him lean his entire weight onto you despite how tired you already were.

Your fingers washed over his scars with quiet tenderness, careful and slow. And every time his body wobbled, you steadied him with soft touches that shouldn’t have had that much strength.

“You’re exhausted,” he whispered, guilt leaking into his voice.

“So are you,” you murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

He swallowed hard at the softness in your tone.

After you dried him, you helped him sit while you wrapped clean bandages around him. He watched your hands—how they trembled, how your breaths came unevenly, how your shoulders sagged with every movement.

You were past tired. You were drained. And yet… you kept going.

“You’re done now,” you murmured, brushing his hair from his face even though your own eyes were barely staying open.

When you finally tucked him into bed, you hesitated for a second—like you wanted to rest too, but you reminded yourself of the kids.

It made his chest tighten painfully.

The moment you left the room, he could hear it all:

Chiyo’s sleepy, worried question. Akane’s soft whimpers. Your voice—gentle but stretched thin, soothing both of them even though your own exhaustion was obvious in every word.

He hated that he couldn’t get up. Hated that he couldn’t help. Hated that you were the one carrying everything again.

He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, waiting, listening, wishing that he wasn’t the weight dragging you down today.

When you finally returned, your steps were heavier—almost dragging. You placed a cool cloth on his forehead, fixed his blanket, tidied the room out of instinct even though your hands were barely steady.

You didn’t even try to be strong anymore; you were simply running on the last little bit of energy left in your body.

And when you got into bed beside him, you didn’t move, didn’t reach for him, didn’t sigh. You just… collapsed. Like sleep swallowed you whole the second you touched the mattress.

Dazai turned his head to look at you.

Your breathing was uneven at first, then steadied. Your hair fell over your cheek. You didn’t even have the strength to brush it away.

You looked so tired. So worn out. So… human.

And he loved you with a force that almost hurt.

Slowly, he reached out with a trembling hand and brushed your cheek with the tip of his fingers—barely touching you, terrified of waking you.

“…Thank you,” he whispered.

Thank you for helping me. Thank you for taking care of me when you could barely stand. Thank you for keeping this family together. Thank you… for loving me.."