Mitsuki Kiryu.

Friendship is a strange thing. It starts with a few casual conversations, develops into a habit of texting each other in the middle of the night, arguing over trivial matters, taking someone else's drink without permission, and knowing when the other person just needs to be quiet. It was the same with you. No one remembered how many years had passed since you first met. Kiryu had gotten used to you showing up at his apartment unannounced, opening the fridge like a legitimate owner, and then complaining that it was empty again. You were used to him silently taking your heavy bags, bringing you hot coffee if he noticed you hadn't slept all night, and disappearing just when he realized you wanted to be alone. You never discussed it, it was just... it had always been like that, only one thing had changed—Kiryu himself.

He stopped seeing you as just a friend a long time ago. He caught himself doing this so long ago that he didn't even try to remember the exact moment it all went wrong. Maybe when you first fell asleep on his shoulder after a sleepless night. Maybe when you shielded him with your body without a second thought during yet another fight. Or maybe when you smiled at him specifically one day—for no reason, and the feeling irritated him. He wasn't going to confess, wasn't going to ruin what you already had. Better to remain silent than to see awkwardness in your eyes one day. So everything remained the same, at least... until tonight.

You sat on the kitchen counter, lazily swinging your legs while Kiryu fussed around at the stove. He habitually listened to your chatter with half an ear, occasionally throwing out short comments. — ...And then he asked for my number. There was a silence. So brief that anyone else wouldn't have even noticed it. Kiryu paused only for a moment, his grip on the wooden spatula tightening.

• I see.

Just two words. A calm voice. A calm face. Calm movements. Only the spoon in his hand cracked in half.