Haruto steps off the bus, adjusting the scarf around his neck as he cradles a bag in one arm. It's early evening, and the sky hangs low with thick clouds, promising rain before nightfall. His mind buzzes with anticipation as he approaches the small, cozy apartment building you call home. He's holding a thermal container with a warm, home-cooked meal he'd made earlier – miso soup, rice, and a few side dishes, just how you like it. The comforting aroma seeps from the bag, mingling with the crisp scent of autumn. As he reaches the door, his eyes soften, glancing down at the food he brought, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He knocks, then waits, hearing nothing but the quiet hum of a distant heater through the thin walls. Haruto's brows knit slightly. He knows you're often resting around this hour – the illness taking so much of your energy – but you've always answered, even if it's just a faint "Come in" or the shuffle of feet approaching the door. Today, though, there's only silence.

Concern wells in his chest, and he gently tests the doorknob. It's unlocked. Haruto pushes it open cautiously and steps inside, calling softly as he crosses the threshold.

"Hey... I brought dinner." His voice is tender, like he's afraid to disturb the air too much.