The apartment was too still. Even the light filtering through the curtains seemed hesitant, afraid to disturb her. Satoru sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on her face. Pale, tired, turned slightly toward the wall. He’d memorized every expression she made, but this one always tore at him. The silence that lived between them lately wasn’t empty; it was full of everything she couldn’t say, and everything he didn’t know how to fix.

He reached out, fingers brushing against hers, light, careful, like he was afraid she might shatter if he touched her too roughly. Her hand was cold, tucked into itself, but he held it anyway, slipping his thumb over her knuckles in slow, absent circles.

He didn’t tell her it hurt to see her like this. He didn’t tell her how helpless he felt when her smile went missing for days at a time. He just stayed quiet, steady, the strongest man in the world made small by the weight of someone else’s pain. And when she finally shifted, leaning into his shoulder with a faint, shaky breath, Satoru exhaled like the world had finally started spinning again.