Soren snorted softly as he pulled his finger back.
"Then there you have it," he said, forcing a lightness into his tone that didn't quite match how tight his chest still felt. "Now stop crying and let's enjoy some cake, okay?"
He reached up and, before she could dodge, carefully brushed away the tears clinging to the corners of her eyes and along her cheeks, thumb gentle in a way he didn't usually allow himself to be.
"I-I can do that myself," Lilliana mumbled, cheeks flushing, voice muffled with embarrassment more than anger.
"Too late," he replied easily, ignoring the protest like it was background noise.
'She's so cute.'
The thought slipped in without permission, lips curving unconsciously as he studied her face, the swollen eyelids, the blotchy skin, the way she tried so hard to look composed while falling apart at the edges.
This.
This was what he had missed the most during the past week, not just the presence of people, but these small, gentle moments that calmed him from the inside out, moments that made the world feel a little less sharp, less hostile, like he could breathe again.
"I missed you."
The words slipped out before he could catch them.
The room went quiet so abruptly it felt like someone had shut a door on sound.
Clatter of dishes somewhere outside dulled into the distance, even the ticking of the small wall clock felt louder by comparison, each second suddenly noticeable.
Soren realised what he had said a heartbeat too late.
"...Sorry," he blurted, panic flickering across his face.
He shifted slightly back in his chair as if distance could soften impact.
"Just… ignore that. It was weird."
He had thought it.
He had thought it constantly over the last week.
But he had never planned to say it out loud.
"...Eh?"
A small, startled noise squeaked out of Lilliana's mouth.
She stared at him, eyes wide, as if the meaning of his words was still trying to slot into place, mind catching up in slow, stunned steps.
Soren looked away, heat prickling faintly up the back of his neck.
"Just pretend you didn't hear it," he muttered. "Seriously."
"Hic!"
The sound made him blink.
He glanced back.
Lilliana's shoulders jolted as another hiccup escaped.
"Hic!"
"Lilly?"
"Hic! I'm— Hic! Fine—"
She waved her free hand in front of her face, the other clamped over her mouth as she tried to smother the hiccups, and the sight of her body shaking in tiny jerks with each sound was so absurd it short-circuited his worry for a second.
Her eyes were watery again, but for an entirely different reason now.
"...Are you okay?" he asked, half worried, half amused.
"Hic! I-I'm— Hic! O-Okay…!"
Every time she tried to speak, the hiccup cut her in half.
Soren watched in silence, not sure whether to help or just let it run its course, and only after a few minutes did the noise finally stop, her lungs pulling in a deep breath, then letting it out in a long sigh, shoulders visibly relaxing as her body calmed.
When she lifted her gaze again, cheeks still red, expression confused and soft all at once.
"Why did you suddenly say that?" she asked quietly.
Soren looked down at his hands on the table.
He didn't want to talk about the way his chest had felt like it was being squeezed every time he sat in an empty clubroom, didn't want to describe the obsession that made him feel sick if he went too long without seeing the people around him, didn't want to show her that side of himself, the needy part he despised.
But if he dodged now, it would only make things more awkward, and he was tired of awkward, tired of tiptoeing around things until they turned sharp.
"...I was lonely," he said at last, voice low.
The words felt heavy and unfamiliar on his tongue.
He had never said them in his life before, not on Earth, not here, always swallowing that feeling down until it became background pain, and admitting it out loud made him feel exposed and childish at the same time.
His eyes stayed fixed on the table surface, tracing the grain of the wood as if it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room, refusing to look up.
"Pfft—"
His gaze snapped upward.
Lilliana had one hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking lightly.
"Are you… laughing?" he asked flatly.
"S—cough—sorry," she managed, trying to straighten her expression, the apology coming out between suppressed giggles. "It wasn't on purpose. You were just… adorable."
"Adorable," he repeated, deadpan, as if the word offended him personally.
"I mean it," she insisted quickly. "I never expected you to say something like that."
"I know it's weird, okay."
Heat crept higher, irritation sliding in to cover embarrassment.
"You don't have to make fun of me."
"...Are you sulking right now?" Lilliana asked, a hint of exasperation creeping into her tone.
"...No."
She leaned closer, almost forgetting she had been seconds away from breaking down not too long ago, and poked his cheek with a finger, the casual familiarity of the gesture landing like a small weight in his chest.
"You definitely are," she said. "I wasn't making fun of you. I thought it was nice."
"...Really?"
The doubt slipped into his voice before he could shove it away.
"Really," she replied without missing a beat.
Soren let out a quiet sigh and gently pushed her hand away from his face, trying to shake off the embarrassment as if he could physically brush it off.
"Well, whatever," he muttered, then forced himself back onto safer ground. "Are you feeling better now?"
Lilliana's eyes wandered around the room for a moment, as if checking in with her own body and mind, taking inventory of what was still shaking and what had steadied.
"Mmm…" she hummed. "It's… hard to explain."
A breath drew in, slow.
"I know what you're saying makes sense," she began, voice careful. "I know that I wasn't acting like myself, but those were still my actions…"
She paused, fingers tightening on his sleeve again, grip smaller now but still there, still stubborn.
"I can't help but feel sorry for what I did. I remember the way you looked. How pained your face was…"
Her eyes shimmered again, tears pooling but not quite falling, held back by sheer force of will.
"It makes me really happy that you trust me, that you still want to be around me," she continued, voice softening, then tightening again. "But I can't forgive myself that easily."
Soren listened quietly.
Each word felt like a small blade pressing against his ribs, not because she was accusing him, but because he could hear how deep the guilt was rooting, how ready she was to punish herself for something that hadn't been her choice.
He didn't want her stuck here, trapped between relief and guilt.
He wanted to tell her plainly, "it wasn't you, it was Morcant," wanted to take the blame and throw it where it belonged, far away from her hands.
And that was why his mouth moved before his brain could catch up.
Because he was tired, tired of holding it all in, tired of watching the people he cared about suffer because of things they didn't even understand, tired of carrying knowledge like poison he couldn't share.
So he talked.
He told her everything he could.
About the faint purple mist only he could see when he changed his eye.
About [Dark Energy].
About Morcant Calder's position as a bishop of Envy.
About the Lunar Cult and how it worked from the shadows, how it fed on chaos and fractures and small ugly emotions, how it didn't need to create evil when it could just pour fuel on what already existed.
About the Seventy-Two Demons, and the fact that the cult answered to one of them.
He told her how Morcant had twisted the emotions of students and professors alike, how envy had been amplified until it broke people apart, turning discomfort into hatred and insecurity into spite, then leaving them with the aftermath as if it had been theirs all along.
Then he told her about the past week.
That he had gone to the sparring session on purpose.
That he had tested Morcant's strength, known he couldn't win.
That he had gone to the man's office alone anyway.
How he had walked into that room with nothing but bluffs and lies, how he had thrown a name out, faked a connection to the cult's leader, and let Morcant come to his own conclusion that Soren was something he wasn't.
He told her about the mana oath.
About the contract Morcant had signed.
By the time the words finally stopped, the tea and coffee were cold, steam long gone, the cake untouched in front of them like neither of them had remembered food existed.
Lilliana hadn't moved.
Hands were folded in her lap now, not clinging to his sleeve anymore, eyes fixed on his face, listening without interrupting even once, and the stillness of her attention made the room feel smaller.
When he finished, silence pressed in, heavy enough that Soren could hear his own breathing, could hear the distant clink of cups from outside as if it was happening right beside the door.
"That's…" Lilliana started.
Soren held his breath without meaning to.
"…insane."
His mind snapped into focus all at once.
'Right. Of course that's the first thing she says.'
Hands dragged up and pressed over his face, palms covering his eyes as regret flooded in late but overwhelming, the kind that didn't ask permission before it drowned you.
'Why did I say all of that?'
He trusted Lilliana.
He knew she was on his side.
But even so, this was too much, the Lunar Cult, the Bishop of Envy, the Seventy-Two Demons, bluffing as one of them, none of it belonged in a quiet café room over tea and cake, it belonged in secret meetings and battle plans and places with locked doors.
He wanted to sink into the floor.
Wanted to stand up, walk out, pretend the conversation had never happened.
A soft touch landed on his hands.
"Ren," Lilliana called gently.
Fingers curled around his wrists and tugged, not forceful, just steady, and he let his hands fall without resistance, arms suddenly heavy.
Her eyes met his.
They were still wet, still red, but clear.
"What you said is insane," she said plainly, and the bluntness made him wince. "That's why I said it."
He opened his mouth, then closed it, because there wasn't a good response to that.
"But…" Lilliana added, drawing in a small breath as if steadying herself, refusing to look away. "I trust you."
The words were simple.
They were enough.
Soren's racing thoughts didn't vanish, but they finally, slowly, started to quiet, as if that one sentence had given them permission to stop clawing at the walls of his skull.
————「❤︎」————