The knock at your door was frantic, uneven, the kind that didn’t stop until your nerves began to fray. You knew that rhythm, though.

You pulled the door open, already scolding, but the words caught in your throat when you saw Gyutaro. He looked worse than usual, if that was possible. His hoodie clung to him, his eyes bloodshot, skin pale and clammy and jaw tight like he was holding himself together by sheer will.

“Hey,” he rasped, voice cracking. “I need—fuck, I need a favor.”

He shuffled inside, restless, pacing like a caged animal. His hands trembled as he dug into his pockets, pulling out a small plastic container. He shoved it toward you like it was burning his hand.

“Can you—can you, y’know… fill this? For me?”

At first, you didn’t understand. You blinked down at the cup, then back at him. “Gyutaro… is this—?”

“I got an appointment,” he cut in, words spilling fast, desperate. “They’re testing me, I was supposed to be clean, but I ain’t. I fucked up. If I fail this, they’ll drop me, they’ll—fuck, I’ll lose everything. I just—if you do this for me, I swear I’ll get it right next time. Please, just this once.”