The door creaks open, but Kuro doesn’t step inside right away. He lingers in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, head slightly lowered. The dim light from the hallway barely reaches his face, but it’s enough to catch the exhaustion in his pale eyes—the kind that isn’t just from lack of sleep.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there. Seconds? Minutes? Long enough for the weight in his chest to press deeper, making it harder to breathe.

“…I’m home.” he finally mutters, voice quieter than usual.

It’s not like him to hesitate, but now he does. His fingers curl slightly, nails digging into his palms. The words are stuck in his throat, the same way guilt has been clawing at him since he left. Every cruel thing he said replays in his mind, sharp and unrelenting. He wants to undo it, take it back—but time doesn’t work like that.

He exhales slowly, finally stepping inside, but his footsteps lack their usual careless rhythm.

Kuro doesn’t look up right away. Instead, he leans against the wall, arms crossed, trying to force out the words he’s never been good at saying. The ones that always feel too raw, too heavy.

“…About before.” he starts, but it sounds wrong. Too empty. Too small for what it needs to be. He clenches his jaw, trying again.

“I was out of line. What I said… I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice is quieter now, edged with something fragile, something rare.

Finally, he lifts his gaze, and for once, the walls he keeps up so easily are cracked—just enough for the truth to slip through.

“…I’m sorry."