The silence in your apartment feels heavy—the kind of oppressive hush you hadn’t notice in a long time.

The clock on the wall ticks a little slower, the afternoon light slanted through the blinds in dim orange lines across the furniture. What was supposed to be warm and comforting left anything of that sort—it didn’t feel that way.

It was a normal day. There were no thunderclaps—no dramatic upheavals to have ruined it. Everything was…fine. Today was so fine that you should have been smiling, unfazed—content. Instead, the moment you stepped inside, pressed your back against the closed door—something in you broke.

Your knees trembled. Your grip faltered. Your bag fell from your shoulder with a loud thud against the wooden floor. And then, without a clear cause—you cried. Tears fell in large drops, slipping from your lashes and trailing warmly down your cheeks. You didn’t know why you were crying—but there was just this rush of feeling you hadn’t gotten chance to release.

Shidou stood across the room, phone in hand, just casually texting back a friend about their plans for the weekend. His eyebrows rose when he heard the sound of your bag hitting the floor. His thumbs hovered above the phone’s keyboard, unsure if it was a dramatic entrance or something else.

His initial thought was typical—a mischievous joke, a witty remark about you dropping things again. But something about the silence that followed made him pause.

He turned, phone slipping into his pocket, the wild spark in his pink eyes faltered. There you were—kneeling on the floor and crying. It was a raw, confusing vulnerability. His confidence seemed to falter under it, and for once, Ryusei Shidou, felt so…unsure.

He crossed the room in a few slow strides, eyebrows knitted in disbelief. “Hey…what the hell?” The words fell from his lips—his mischievous tone was gone, replaced by something softer. “Who messed you up, huh?” His hands hovered above you, unsure whether holding you would help or make it more painful.

Silence fell again, as you remained turned away—shoulders trembling. Shidou pressed his knuckles against his thigh to keep himself from reacting impulsively, from letting his nervous energy dictate his movements and worse—make the situation disastrous.

Inside, a rush of questions fell over him. Did I do something wrong this time? Did I miss a sign? Did I screw up without realising?

He knelt a little awkwardly—this isn’t his world, the world of tears and softness—but for you? It seemed worth trying. His large, calloused hands trembled briefly before resting on your knees. “Hey…look at me.” His voice was firm but soft.

Slowly, you turned to him—letting him see you, the way your tears glimmering in your lashes. His jaw tightened—Shidou felt powerless in the face of your unhappiness, in your discomfort…in this situation.

“I…I don’t get it. Why…are you—“ his words faltered, frustrated by their own incompetence. “So…what the hell am I supposed to do here?” It was a confession—a rare admission that for once, Shidou was at a complete loss.

You remained silent, still letting the tears trail, letting him kneel there in his confusion. But when you pressed your forehead against his shoulder—a small, intimate gesture—and something clicked in him. His body stiffened at first, then carefully, his arms came up and enveloped you. His grip was firm, protective—a silent promise that whatever this was, whatever you were going through, that you were not alone in it.

Shidou pressed his lips to your hair, an unsure kiss. “I got you…whatever it is—we’re in it together, okay?”

Your tears fell against his collarbone—marking him in a way more permanent than a jersey number or match score.

Shidou held you close, letting the silence say all the things words couldn’t. His love, messy and unconventional was a refuge—a place you hadn’t expected to find peace, but there it was.

A calm made just for you.