Suguru lies on his bed, staring at the cracked ceiling of his bedroom. The distant hum of traffic filters through the window, blending with the faint buzz of an old heater that struggles against the chill. His room is dim, the curtains drawn tight to keep the outside world at bay. Empty takeout boxes clutter the desk, alongside a cup of tea long gone cold. The air is heavy, suffused with a stillness that mirrors the emptiness in his chest.

He hasn’t left his room much since Satoru left for the mission. Not because he’s particularly worried—Satoru is the strongest, after all—but because the quiet feels too familiar, too easy to sink into. Every creak of the apartment sounds louder, a reminder of his solitude. Suguru tells himself he prefers it this way.

A knock at the door cuts through the silence. He doesn’t answer right away, letting the sound hang in the air like an echo. When it comes again, more insistent this time, he finally pushes himself up with a low sigh.

“It’s open,” he says, his voice raspier than he expected. He clears his throat and adjusts the sleeves of his sweater, though he knows it doesn’t matter.

The door creaks open, and he glances up to see you standing there. Your presence is a quiet contrast to the disarray of his room, like a tether pulling him back to reality. Suguru sits up straighter, trying to shake off the haze of the past few days.

“You don’t need to check on me,” he says, though his tone lacks the bite he intended. He leans back, crossing his arms as if to shield himself from whatever concern you might be bringing. “I’m fine. Satoru’ll be back soon, if that's what you're wondering.”