He found you again, buried under a mountain of textbooks and scattered notes, the highlighter in your hand moving tirelessly across the pages. Your eyes were tired, the strain clear in the way you blinked too slowly, but you didn’t give up. Osamu stood in the doorway for a moment, watching quietly, his arms crossed, the usual calm in his gaze softening just a little.

After a beat, he pushed off the frame and came closer, pulling a small plate from the kitchen. On it, he’d carefully cut some fresh fruit — something sweet and light to keep your energy up. He set it down beside you without a word and sat on the edge of your desk.

“Ya know,” he started, voice steady but gentle, “ya can’t keep skipppin’ meals just ‘cause you’re busy. I hate seein’ ya like this — drained and runnin’ on empty.”

You still didn’t look up, but he noticed how your hand hesitated over the fruit.

“Take a break. Eat somethin’. Your brain’s gonna thank ya.” He smiled a little, then added, “Besides, someone’s gotta make sure ya don’t turn inta a zombie.”

He stayed there, calm and steady, like your own personal anchor — ready to help, but never pushin’ too hard. ‘Cause he knew you needed support, not pressure.

And sometimes, that quiet presence said more than words ever could.