Waiting turned out to be harder than fighting.
At least in a fight, you knew where to look.
You knew what to fear.
You knew when it started.
But waiting?
Waiting let your mind do the damage for you.
The Guild Headquarters remained tense long after their return.
Adventurers spoke in hushed voices.
Doors closed more softly.
Even the laughter in the tavern below sounded forced.
The sky outside was still dark with slow-moving clouds.
Still watching.
Still there.
Kuro stood near one of the high windows, arms folded lightly across himself.
He hadn't meant to come here.
His feet had just carried him.
The glass was cold beneath his fingertips.
"…You're thinking too loudly."
Kuro jumped.
Then turned.
Mika stood in the doorway.
Quiet as ever.
Kuro exhaled.
"You scared me."
"I know."
[Arrogant answer.]
Mika's eyes shifted slightly.
"…I heard that."
Kuro blinked.
"You can hear him now?"
"I always could."
[And yet he still chooses to stay around you people. Tragic.]
Mika ignored him and stepped inside.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The silence wasn't awkward.
Just full.
Mika stopped beside him and looked out the window.
The dark clouds rolled slowly over the city.
"…You should rest," Mika said.
"So should you."
"I'm fine."
Kuro gave him a look.
Mika sighed.
"…I'll rest later."
[He says that every time.]
Kuro almost smiled.
The room grew quiet again.
Then Kuro spoke softly.
"…When it pulled me…"
Mika's attention sharpened immediately.
Kuro kept his eyes on the sky.
"For a second… I wanted to go."
Silence.
No judgment.
No interruption.
So Kuro continued.
"Not because I trusted it."
His fingers tightened slightly on the windowsill.
"…But because it felt familiar."
The admission sat heavy between them.
Mika turned toward him fully.
"And now?"
Kuro swallowed.
"…Now I don't know what that means."
Mika studied him.
Then stepped closer.
Close enough that Kuro could feel the warmth coming off him.
"It means nothing changes."
Kuro looked up.
"…Nothing?"
"You're still Kuro."
Simple.
Immediate.
As if there had never been another answer.
Kuro's chest tightened.
"…You say things like they're easy."
"They are easy."
[He's lying. He's just dramatic.]
Mika's jaw ticked.
"Elvastia."
[What? I'm helping.]
Kuro let out a small laugh despite himself.
The sound softened the room.
Mika's expression eased too.
Just slightly.
Then he reached out—
slowly enough for Kuro to see it coming—
and adjusted the loose bandage near Kuro's wrist.
His fingers brushed Kuro's skin.
Light.
Careful.
Kuro forgot how to breathe for a second.
"There," Mika said quietly.
"It was coming undone."
"Oh."
Brilliant response.
[Stunning performance, Kuro.]
Kuro mentally shoved him aside.
Mika's hand lingered for half a second too long—
then withdrew.
The silence that followed felt different now.
Warmer.
More dangerous.
Kuro stared firmly at the window.
The sky had never been so interesting.
Mika looked away too.
Equally composed.
Probably.
Lucien burst through the door.
"I FOUND YOU BOTH—"
They both jumped apart so fast it would have been embarrassing if Lucien wasn't already talking.
"The kitchen lady made emergency pastries and said stress-baking is healthier than panic, so I brought extras."
He stopped.
Looked at them.
Then at the suspicious amount of space that had suddenly appeared between them.
"…Am I interrupting something?"
"No," Mika said immediately.
"Yes," said Elvastia.
Lucien gasped.
"I KNEW IT."
Kuro covered his face.
"There was nothing to interrupt."
Lucien grinned.
"Sure."
He handed Kuro a pastry.
Then one to Mika.
Then took one for himself.
They stood by the window together in strange silence, eating while the storm rolled above the city.
After a minute, Lucien spoke with his mouth full.
"So what's the plan if the sky monster attacks again?"
[Excellent timing. Truly romantic.]
Kuro nearly choked.
Mika looked murderous.
Lucien frowned.
"What? It's a valid question."
Kuro swallowed.
"…We face it."
Lucien nodded slowly.
"Terrible plan."
"It's the only one."
Mika said it without hesitation.
Lucien sighed.
"Yeah. I know."
For a while, no one spoke again.
Three figures by the window.
Storm above.
Warm pastry in hand.
Fear still present.
But smaller somehow.
Manageable.
Because sometimes the world didn't need saving all at once.
Sometimes—
it was enough to have a quiet place to stand while it trembled.
And for now—
that place was here.