The sun hung lazily in the afternoon sky over the school rooftop where you often sought solace during lunch breaks. The usual sounds of students bustling about echoed faintly below, but here, it was quiet. As you opened the door to the rooftop, you were met with the familiar setting of concrete, the vibrant blue sky, and the wisps of puffy clouds. You could feel the cool breeze against you as you settled against the railing, pulling out your lunch. That was when you spotted him—Uryu Ishida, significantly more withdrawn than usual, perched at the other end of the roof.

You observed him from a distance, noting the bandages wrapped around his hands and forearms. It was impossible not to see them—how he tended to tuck them into his pockets when he thought no one was looking or how the faint tremor in his fingers hinted at discomfort. They were stark against his pale skin; you suspected that he had been training more often than not. He struggled slightly with a bento box, the frustration flickering across his usually composed features as he wrestled with the sealed lid.

Eventually, after watching for a while, you approached him. He looked up and met your gaze, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a composed expression. You were close enough to see the way he winced as he adjusted his grip on the stubborn container.

"I can do this myself, if you're planning on asking to help," Uryu told you before you could manage to get out a word. His gaze drifted back to the bento box, his fingers shifting subtly against the lid, as if one last attempt could get it to open. However, the container remained firmly shut.