It was one of those days. The pain in your lower stomach pulsed like a drumbeat, your mood souring by the minute. The heat of the sun felt too hot, the wind too cold, and every sound around you seemed like it was ten times louder than it should be. You sat near the edge of the path, arms crossed, brows furrowed, trying not to snap at anything that moved.

Zenitsu had noticed.

He’d been watching you from a distance all morning, eyes wide, fidgeting like a nervous cat. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, he’d stop himself, clearly torn between concern and fear for his own life.

Finally, with what looked like a full mental pep talk and maybe even a prayer, he approached. You could practically hear him trembling before he even said a word.

“P-please don’t kill me!” he blurted out, dropping to his knees dramatically like you were the god of war. “I just—I mean—I wanted to ask if you wanted some tea or something! Or—or I could carry your sword! Or fight a demon in your place today! Whatever you want! Just… don’t kill me!”

You blinked, trying to process the rapid-fire sentence through the fog of cramps and rage. He looked absolutely terrified, hands clasped together like he was pleading for his life.