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Mondo had been avoiding Taka all morning.
Which, in itself, was unusual enough to raise immediate concern.
Kiyotaka Ishimaru was not the type to ignore irregularities—especially not when they involved someone he cared about. And Mondo Owada, despite his stubbornness, his sharp tongue, and his tendency to shove people away when things got difficult, had become… important.
Very important.
So when Mondo skipped breakfast, brushed off morning training, and gave nothing but a gruff “I’m fine” before disappearing back into his room, Taka knew something was wrong.
Deeply wrong.
He stood outside Mondo’s dorm room now, posture rigid, hand hovering just inches from the door. He hesitated—just briefly—before knocking firmly.
“OWADA! It is I, Ishimaru! May I enter?”
Silence.
Taka frowned.
“I am aware you are inside! Your absence from scheduled activities is highly irregular and—”
“Go away.”
The voice that came through the door was low. Rougher than usual. Not angry, exactly—but strained.
Taka’s expression softened immediately.
“I will not,” he said, quieter now. “You are clearly unwell.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Another pause. Then, more defensive:
“Just leave it, man.”
Taka inhaled slowly.
“…Mondo.”
No response.
“…Please.”
That did it.
There was a long, drawn-out sigh from the other side, followed by the click of the lock. The door creaked open just enough for Taka to slip inside.
The room was dim. Curtains drawn. The air felt… heavy.
And there, on the bed, half-curled on his side, was Mondo.
Taka’s chest tightened.
Mondo looked awful.
His face was pale beneath his usual tan, brows furrowed tightly as if even existing hurt. One arm was wrapped protectively around his middle, the other gripping the blanket like it was the only thing holding him together.
“…You are not fine,” Taka said immediately.
“No shit,” Mondo muttered, not even lifting his head.
Taka stepped closer, concern etched into every line of his posture. “Are you injured? Ill? Did you—”
“I said drop it,” Mondo snapped, sharper this time.
Taka stopped.
For a moment, the room fell silent again—tense, fragile.
Then Mondo groaned softly, pressing his forehead deeper into the pillow.
“…Sorry,” he mumbled. “Just… hurts.”
Taka’s voice softened instantly. “Where?”
Mondo didn’t answer right away.
His grip tightened on the blanket.
“…Stomach,” he said finally, reluctant. “Just—whatever. It’ll pass.”
Taka studied him carefully.
The way he was curled in on himself. The tension in his shoulders. The faint tremor in his breathing.
Understanding clicked into place.
“…Ah,” Taka said gently.
Mondo stiffened.
“Don’t,” he warned immediately.
“I was not going to say anything inappropriate,” Taka replied, calm but firm. “Only that I understand.”
Mondo let out a bitter huff. “Yeah? Doubt that.”
“I may not experience it myself,” Taka admitted, “but I have taken the time to educate myself on matters of health and wellbeing. What you are experiencing is not something to be dismissed.”
“Doesn’t mean I need babysitting,” Mondo muttered.
Taka crossed his arms—but his expression remained soft.
“This is not ‘babysitting.’ This is ensuring that you are not neglecting your health.”
“I’m not—”
“You skipped meals.”
Mondo went quiet.
“You are dehydrated,” Taka continued, glancing at the untouched glass on the bedside table. “And judging by your posture, you are in significant pain.”
Mondo clicked his tongue. “It’s not that bad.”
As if to betray him, his stomach cramped sharply, and he winced, breath hitching.
Taka did not miss it.
“…Mondo,” he said quietly, stepping closer to the bed. “Why are you refusing to take care of yourself?”
Mondo didn’t answer.
He just turned his face further into the pillow.
“…It’s stupid,” he muttered after a long pause.
“It is not.”
“It is,” Mondo insisted, voice rough. “I can handle it. I don’t need—this.”
“This,” Taka echoed.
“…All this crap,” Mondo said, gesturing vaguely without lifting his head. “Painkillers, heat packs, whatever. I’m fine.”
“You are clearly not fine.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Mondo snapped, frustration creeping back in. “I’m not gonna sit here acting all… weak over it.”
The word hung heavy in the air.
Taka’s expression shifted.
“…You believe taking care of yourself is weakness?”
Mondo didn’t respond.
Which, in itself, was an answer.
Taka exhaled slowly, then sat carefully on the edge of the bed.
“Mondo,” he said, voice softer than before, “enduring pain unnecessarily is not strength.”
Mondo’s grip on the blanket tightened.
“It’s just how it is,” he muttered. “I deal with it. End of story.”
“No,” Taka said gently. “That is not acceptable.”
Mondo scoffed. “Since when do you—”
“Since I began caring about you.”
That made him pause.
Just slightly.
Taka continued, more quietly now:
“You do not have to prove anything by suffering in silence. Not to me.”
Mondo swallowed.
“…It’s not about that,” he said, but there was less bite in it now.
“Then what is it about?”
Another long silence.
“…I just…” Mondo hesitated, then grimaced as another wave of pain hit. “I hate it, alright? I hate that it happens. I hate how it feels. I hate—” he cut himself off, jaw tightening. “Just… all of it.”
Taka listened without interrupting.
“…And dealing with it just makes it more real,” Mondo finished quietly.
The room went still.
Taka’s gaze softened even further.
“…I see.”
He reached out—slowly, deliberately—and rested a hand over Mondo’s where it clutched the blanket.
Mondo tensed at first.
But he didn’t pull away.
“You are allowed to dislike it,” Taka said softly. “You are allowed to be frustrated. But ignoring your needs will not make it disappear.”
Mondo let out a shaky breath.
“…Yeah, well.”
Another cramp hit, sharper this time, and he curled in tighter with a low groan.
That was enough.
“Alright,” Taka said, shifting into action. “We are addressing this immediately.”
“Oi—”
“No objections,” Taka said firmly. “You are in pain, and I will not stand by while you suffer needlessly.”
Mondo grumbled, but it lacked any real resistance.
Taka stood, already moving with purpose.
“I will fetch water, appropriate medication, and a heat pack. You will remain here.”
“Not like I’m going anywhere,” Mondo muttered.
Taka paused at the door, glancing back.
“…Mondo.”
“Yeah?”
“…Thank you for letting me in.”
Mondo didn’t respond right away.
“…Yeah, yeah,” he muttered eventually, though his voice was quieter now.
When Taka returned, he came prepared.
Water. Pain relief. A properly heated pack wrapped carefully in cloth.
He set everything down with precise care before turning his attention back to Mondo.
“Sit up, please.”
Mondo groaned. “Bossy…”
“Sit. Up.”
“…Tch.”
But he did.
Slowly. Reluctantly. With a wince.
Taka handed him the water and medication, watching until he took it.
“Good,” he said, nodding. “Now—this.”
He gently placed the warm pack against Mondo’s abdomen.
Mondo flinched at first—then stilled.
“…Oh,” he breathed, tension easing just slightly.
Taka allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
“Better?”
“…Yeah,” Mondo admitted after a moment. “A bit.”
“Excellent.”
Mondo shifted, still holding the heat pack, his shoulders gradually relaxing for the first time all day.
“…You didn’t have to do all this,” he muttered.
“I wanted to.”
Silence.
Then, quieter:
“…Thanks.”
Taka sat beside him again, posture still upright but no longer rigid.
“You are welcome.”
Mondo hesitated—then leaned, just slightly, into his side.
Not much.
Barely anything.
But enough.
Taka froze for half a second—then carefully adjusted, allowing it, making sure Mondo was comfortable.
“…Rest,” he said softly.
Mondo huffed, but didn’t argue this time.
“Stay,” he added, almost under his breath.
Taka didn’t hesitate.
“Of course.”
And as Mondo slowly drifted, the tension easing from his body bit by bit, Taka remained right there beside him—steady, patient, and warm.
Exactly where he was needed.