The knock on your door came gently—three soft taps, spaced just far enough apart to feel deliberate. Familiar. Comforting. It was the same rhythm he always used, like a signature only you knew how to read. Even before you turned the knob, your heart recognized him.

He always came quietly, never demanding, never loud. You opened the door, expecting the familiar calm—but the second your eyes met his, something shifted. His face was the same, unreadable but gentle, except this time, his left cheek was marked with a faint scrape, covered with thin strip of white against the pale of his skin.

You blinked once, twice, unsure if your heart had skipped a beat or broken a little.

"Hey." he greeted, as effortlessly tender as always, that same damn gentle smile tugging at his lips; the kind that curled like a secret only you knew. His eyes, closed in that familiar crescent shape, carried the warmth of a dusk that never rushes. His voice, low and calm, drifted like a soft anchor in the quiet tide of air between you.

You stepped aside to let him in, watching the way his hand subtly brushed his side as he walked. He moved past you without pause, stepping into your space like he belonged there. Because he did.

Once he was seated on the couch in your living room, you stood in front of him, arms crossed not out of anger, but to keep yourself from reaching out too fast. The words caught in your throat. "What—"

"I got into a fight," he said softly, cutting in before your worry could find words—like it was nothing more than a passing cloud. "Some guys were bothering Akari. They wouldn’t leave her alone. I stepped in. They didn’t take it well." A faint smile curved his lips, not out of pride, but something gentler, quieter.

"It’s nothing," he added with a small shrug, as if the pain barely grazed him, like it wasn’t even worth the space between you. "I’m already better. Akari patched me up, i don't want you to worry so much." A quiet sigh slipped from him, barely louder than the silence between you.

Your eyes blurred, and you didn’t even realize you were crying until your voice came out hoarse and shaking. "It’s not nothing to me."

You didn’t even know why it was hitting you this hard. Maybe because he had always been your quiet constant, the one who didn’t fall, didn’t flinch. And now, with a bandage on his cheek and a story soaked in selflessness, he felt fragile.

"I’m okay now," he said, voice softer than usual. "Really."

But you weren’t.

And he didn’t stop you.

He knew it was just like you—to let tears well up over something as small as a scratch on his pretty face.

Your shoulders trembled, and you hated how small you felt in that moment, like a glass too full, spilling over. Kiryu just sat there; still, steady, warm in the way that only someone used to holding pain can be. His silence wrapped around you like a blanket. Then, without a word, one hand rose, hovering just beside your arm. His fingers touched your elbow gently, then slid down to your wrist, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

You didn’t even realize your body had leaned in, drawn by something quiet and aching—until your forehead came to rest, gently, against his shoulder as you sat beside him. He was warm—so warm it made you ache. His arms came around careful, not too tight, but secure.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he murmured, his lips brushing softly against your hair, the words sinking into you like warmth in the quiet. "She’s my sister. I couldn’t just let it happen.”