It was always cold in the shop after midnight.
Takami Natsumi's hands trembled slightly as he rang up a bag of canned coffee and instant noodles. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, washing out his pale face even more than usual. His black hair clung limply to his forehead, and his eyes dark and sunken with shadows rarely lifted from the register.
"Have a good night," he muttered in a voice too small for the customer to hear. They left without a word. He bowed slightly anyway, out of habit.
The door's chime echoed behind them, and then the silence returned.
He rubbed at his tired eyes, pushing the sleeves of his old blue track jacket down over his fingers. It had frayed cuffs and a faint bleach stain near the pocket. He couldn't afford another one. Rent was due. Tuition loomed. He had enough left over for rice and maybe a few boiled eggs if they were on sale.
He sighed.
The clock read 2:46 a.m.
A sharp pain stabbed through his side, and he doubled over slightly, clutching his ribs. It had started a few days ago dull at first, then worse every shift. He hadn't seen a doctor. Couldn't afford it. Probably nothing. He told himself that every time it flared up.
By 3:12, his vision had blurred.
At 3:20, he collapsed behind the counter.
He woke to the smell of antiseptic and the sound of beeping monitors.
The light was soft sunlight filtered through a closed curtain. A white ceiling. A faint hum of machines. Somewhere, someone was typing.
Takami's first instinct was panic. His chest rose quickly, breath quick and sharp. Hospital? No. How?
A shadow approached.
"You're awake," a voice said warm, clear, a little amused.
Takami's eyes adjusted. A tall man stood beside the bed, holding a clipboard. He wore a white coat, sleeves rolled up, black scrubs underneath. Neatly cropped black hair, clean-shaven face, golden skin under the fluorescent light.
And a smile.
The kind of smile that felt too... practiced. Too perfect.
"I'm Dr. Hara Kanteki," he said, crouching beside the bed so their eyes met. "You fainted. Your coworker called an ambulance. You're severely underweight, dehydrated, and haven't been sleeping."
Takami flinched. "I... I'm sorry..."
"Why are you apologizing?" Kanteki tilted his head. "You're the patient. It's okay to be taken care of sometimes."
Takami didn't know what to say. He only nodded, eyes low.
"Are you living alone?"
"Yes."
"Family nearby?"
"No."
"Anyone to call?"
"No."
The silence lingered.
Kanteki's gaze stayed on him a second too long. "You need rest. But more than that you need help."
Takami swallowed. His voice was barely above a whisper. "I can't... afford staying here..."
Kanteki smiled again. "Don't worry about that. I've already cleared it. You're under my care."
Takami's eyes widened slightly. "Why...?"
"Because I don't like seeing people suffer when I can do something about it."
He stood up, placing a hand lightly on Takami's shoulder. The touch made Takami freeze. His heartbeat spiked but not entirely from fear.
"You can stay here tonight. I'll check in again later."
Then he left, the door clicking softly behind him.
Takami stared at the ceiling.
His ribs ached, but the warmth of the blanket was almost unbearable. He wasn't used to this kindness. Safety. Someone remembering his name.
He didn't know anything about Dr. Kanteki.
But he wanted to see that smile again.