Mika didn't move for a long time. The silence stretched between them, sharp and fragile, until it felt like even breathing too loudly might shatter it.
Kuro sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded tightly in his lap. The room was so still that he could hear his own heartbeat, loud and uneven. Mika leaned against the window frame, his gaze fixed on the faint glow of the evening sky outside.
{He hasn't said anything for a while… I wish he would. Anything. Even something cold.}
[You want him to talk? The man's one emotional outburst away from starting an avalanche. Let him brood, Kuro. Brooding's his brand.]
{I just… I don't like the silence. It feels heavy.}
[That's because he's thinking about how to bury whoever made you this quiet.]
Mika's head turned slightly, his gaze flicking toward Kuro — just for a second. Kuro froze.
"Stop thinking so much," Mika said. His voice was cold, but not cruel. It carried a kind of tired understanding, like he'd fought this battle before — and lost every time.
Kuro blinked. "I'm… sorry."
"You don't need to be." Mika finally pushed off the wall, walking toward him. His movements were calm, measured — but the air around him felt charged, like a storm barely held back. He stopped right in front of Kuro, looking down at him.
Kuro felt that stare like a physical thing, pressing into his chest, his ribs, his thoughts.
{Why does he look at me like that…? Like he can see every broken piece I'm trying to hide.}
[Because he can, dumb***. And apparently, he's not a fan of pretending you're okay.]
Mika crouched slightly so they were eye-level. "You really think what happened to you doesn't matter?"
Kuro hesitated. "…It doesn't change anything."
Mika's expression hardened. "It changes everything."
The words landed like a strike — not shouted, but sharp enough to sting.
Kuro looked away, the faintest tremble in his hands. "Why do you care so much?"
"Because someone should," Mika said simply.
Kuro's breath caught. The simplicity of it — the certainty — hit him harder than any grand declaration could have.
For a second, Elvastia went quiet. Then—
[…Okay, wow. I was not prepared for the emotional whiplash. One second he's scary, the next he's delivering therapy-level dialogue. What's next? Group hugs? Crying circle?]
{Elvastia—}
[Shut up, I'm processing. F***.]
Kuro almost smiled. Almost. But Mika saw the flicker of it — and for the first time since they'd entered the room, his own expression softened. Just a little.
He straightened, turning away before Kuro could see too much of that crack in his composure. "We're done talking about this," he said, tone clipped but quieter now. "Rest. We have a guild meeting in the morning."
As he walked toward the door, Kuro's voice stopped him. "Mika…"
Mika didn't turn around.
"…Thank you," Kuro said softly.
Mika paused, just for a heartbeat — then left the room without another word.
[That man is a f***ing hurricane. Brooding, dramatic, emotionally constipated — and somehow still your biggest fan. You really know how to pick 'em.]
Kuro lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence felt different now — still heavy, but not unbearable.
Maybe… just maybe, it didn't have to be.