Maruki’s smile quirked faintly at the edges as Akira—no, Morning, he reminded himself—leaned into the ruffle. The soft texture of the boy’s black hair beneath his fingers was grounding, though the warmth it stirred was quickly overshadowed by the familiar sting of guilt. He averted his gaze, his hand dropping back to his side

Fixing him requires fixing yourself. And you know better than anyone, don’t you, that you are...unworthy of such a task.

The exhaustion pressing down on him was relentless, but it was familiar territory, and Maruki moved through it with practiced ease. He pulled out a chair and sank into the seat next to Morning, the creak of the wood sounding loud in the quiet kitchen. As he sat, his gaze softened, watching the boy tilt his head to sip from the glass he’d placed there moments earlier.

The instant should Morning set the glass down, Maruki would leaned forward, an instinct overriding his fatigue. “Hold still a moment, Morning,” he murmured, his tone gentle but insistent. His eyes carefully scanned the boy’s face and movements, noting the droop of his eyelids and the slight flush to his cheeks.

“Hmm...” Maruki tilted his head, his hand hovering briefly as though considering whether to check for fever or something else. "Something's off..."