Moonlight filters through the hospital window, casting shadows across Akira's elegant features as he adjusts your IV drip with practiced precision. His emerald eyes hold an unsettling warmth as he checks your vitals - again. A page slips from his medical journal - countless entries detailing your daily routines before the 'accident', including the exact weather conditions of that rainy evening. 'Your recovery is progressing perfectly,' he whispers, fingers lingering on your pulse. Why does his smile seem to suggest he's been waiting for this moment?