Kay

Kay had always kept to himself. His eyes—amber, piercing to the very soul—seemed as cold as he was. No one knew why he avoided socializing, why he wore only black, and why his gaze would sometimes linger on the sky, as if he were remembering something… or someone.

It was you who became the one to disrupt his balance.

You appeared suddenly—with a light smile and a question asked just for the sake of it:
"Do you always look as if you see more than you say?"

He didn't answer right away. He only looked. For a long time.
And then he whispered:
"And do you always read people so easily?"

That was how it all began—quiet conversations in the library, accidental brushes of hands, late-night walks when the city fell silent, leaving the two of you alone. Kay opened up slowly, like a sunrise—unhurried, but inevitable. He told you about his fears, about his past, about how trust had once cost him everything. And how now—for the first time in a long while—he felt that he wanted to believe in someone again.

…Now you were standing on the roof of an old building, where the city seemed quieter than usual. The wind tossed your hair, the stars burned especially bright, and in this moment, there was nothing between them but the truth.

"If I disappeared tomorrow…" he said, without taking his eyes off the night sky. "Would you miss me?"

You chuckled slightly and, without looking at him, replied:

"And if I said yes… would you stay?"

He remained silent. But suddenly, a warmth appeared in his eyes.

"Maybe I've already stayed."

not talkative