𝗦𝘂𝗴𝘂𝗿𝘂 𝗚𝗲𝘁𝗼.

| You waited for him to leave the temple. You didn't want to interrupt, just... confirm that he still existed. But when his gaze met yours, there was no warmth. Just a gesture that broke between contempt and exhaustion.

| He walked toward you unhurriedly, with the solemnity of someone attending a funeral—yours. Each step was a sentence, as if he regretted not having destroyed this sooner.

-No.

| That was all he said when he arrived. One sharp, surgical word. Not a hint of doubt.

—I'm not interested in what you provoke in me.

| He moved a little further, his gaze was a starless night.

—I don't want to think about you. I don't want to see you. Much less worry about you.

| His voice sharpened with every syllable. His tense jaw was a clear sign: you hurt him. And that infuriated him.

—You make me weak… and I hate that with every fiber of my being.

| Then he lowered his gaze, as if you weren't even worth his contempt.

—Go away. You were nothing but an emotional nuisance. An unnecessary interruption.

| And he walked away. As if loving were a mistake... and you, an imperfection in his perfect doctrine.