The classroom hummed faintly around him, but Kuro wasn't there. His mind had slipped back to a memory that made the air feel thick and the walls close. He could still feel the cold stones under his back, the blood smeared across his skin, and the bruises that covered him like a dark map of pain.
{…I was fourteen. They cornered me in the cellar. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. They kicked me… and kept me down. I couldn't see, couldn't hear anything but their laughter. My ribs cracked. I thought… I thought I was going to die.}
[Holy s***. Fourteen? Fourteen, and they just… left you there?]
{…My father didn't care. He told me to get up, clean myself, and buy supplies for him. He didn't see the bruises. Didn't see the blood. Didn't see me almost dead.}
Elvastia's voice broke in, sarcastic and sharp, though Kuro could almost feel the humor trying to ease the pain.
[Wow. Congratulations, elf boy. You survived a dungeon of human trash AND a father who's basically a walking garbage bin of heartlessness. Round of applause.]
Kuro pressed his face into his hands. The hollow ache returned, heavy and sickening. It wasn't just sadness—it was terror, emptiness, and a sense of worthlessness that had carved itself deep into him.
Mika, seated beside him, noticed. Pale eyes narrowed, jaw tight. He didn't speak, but the subtle tension in his shoulders and the way his fingers twitched told Kuro more than words could.
"…Kuro," Mika whispered, voice low and cold as steel, "anyone who did this… anyone… I would make them regret it. Every second. Every breath."
Kuro's chest ached in a strange way—part fear, part relief. He wasn't used to people who actually wanted to protect him, not just walk past or look the other way.
{He's scary… but maybe he's the first one who cares.}
[Finally. Someone actually gives a f***. Though, seriously, he's scary enough to make a dragon wet its scales.]
Kuro looked up at Mika, who didn't move, didn't smile, didn't speak. But he could see the subtle shift in his expression, a barely perceptible flicker of worry behind the ice.
{…I don't know how to feel about this. I don't know how to feel about anyone caring.}
[Well, elf boy… congratulations. You're officially being spoiled. Try not to cry too hard, okay?]
Kuro's lips twitched faintly, almost a smile. The emptiness was still there, gnawing, but for the first time in a long while, the weight wasn't completely unbearable. Mika's cold presence and Elvastia's obnoxious commentary made it just slightly lighter, though the memory remained—a wound that refused to heal.
And Mika noticed it. That hollow ache. The way Kuro carried it quietly. His jaw tightened again, and for the first time in a long while, he felt the raw pull of anger and protectiveness for someone so fragile, so broken.