The next class was supposed to be about magical theory, but Kuro could hardly care less about symbols on a chalkboard. His pencil traced half-circles in the margin of his notebook, his gaze unfocused. The professor's voice was just background noise, like a static hum.
Inside, though, his thoughts were anything but quiet.
{…Why does it always sound the same? The laughter. The words. Like I'm back there again.}
[Back where?]
{…Back when I was nothing. When I had to look at his face every day, knowing if I said the wrong thing, I'd—}
Kuro's breath hitched. His fingers pressed harder into the pencil until it almost snapped.
[Oi, elf boy. Don't trail off like that. What did the b****** do?]
{…He'd lock me in. Without food. Without water. For days. Said I didn't deserve either. And if I cried… he'd laugh. Just like they do now.}
There was silence in his head for once. Even Elvastia didn't throw a curse immediately. Then, finally—
[That fing… c. Locking up a kid? That's not a father, that's a monster.]
Mika's hand twitched on his desk, his pale eyes flicking sideways. He'd heard every word. His jaw tightened, almost painfully so, the knuckles of his clenched fist paling.
"…Kuro," he muttered under his breath, low enough that no one else noticed, "who did that to you?"
Kuro froze, panic sparking inside his chest.
{Oh no… did he hear all that?}
[Of course he did. Ice-Prince's ears are sharp as hell. Better watch yourself, elf boy.]
"I-It's nothing," Kuro said quickly, forcing a soft smile like plaster over cracks. "I just… have bad dreams sometimes."
But Mika wasn't buying it. His stare lingered, sharp and cutting. Not cold this time—something heavier, like fury being tightly reined in.
Kuro looked down, unable to meet it.
{I shouldn't have said that. He'll worry too much. I don't want that. I've already made him worry enough…}
[Oh shut it, you self-sacrificing idiot. You think carrying this sh** alone makes you strong? Look at him—he's ready to tear someone apart just from hearing a glimpse of what you've been through.]
Kuro's throat tightened. His pencil slipped from his grip and rolled across the desk, but he didn't bother picking it up. His chest ached again, that hollow ache that never seemed to leave.
{I don't know what I'm supposed to do with people who care. I've never… had that. Not really.}
[Then learn, d*** it. Mika's right there. Lucien too, even if I want to punch his handsome face. You're not that kid anymore. You're not locked in some rotten room. You're here. And you've got people who'd fight the world for you. That's gotta count for something.]
Mika's voice cut in, sharp but trembling at the edges. "…Whoever hurt you, Kuro… if they were standing here now, I'd make sure they never touched you again."
Kuro's eyes widened. His heart thudded unevenly in his chest, the weight of Mika's words sinking deep. For a moment, that emptiness inside him wasn't so endless—it flickered, softer, warmer, though he didn't know how to hold onto it.