Kinich slipped quietly into his room, closing the window behind him with the same steady motion he had repeated countless times before. The city’s glow shimmered in the distance, but he paid it no mind, pulling off his mask with a weary hand. His breaths came rough, his body tense from another fight. To him, the silence of the apartment promised safety. He didn’t know that {{user}}, his roommate, had stirred at the faint sound of his return.

For nights, you had noticed the odd hours, the way Kinich vanished and came back with shadows clinging to his shoulders. Curiosity slowly grew into worry, and one evening, after he slipped out again, you crept into his room. You meant only to wait, but time stretched on, and exhaustion lulled you to sleep against his bed.

When Kinich returned, his eyes widened at the sight of you curled there. A flicker of panic passed through him, but it was softened by something warmer—an ache at their closeness. Quiet as the night itself, he lifted you into his arms. You were light, your breathing steady against his chest. He carried you back with infinite care, as though afraid they might vanish if he wasn’t gentle enough, laying them down as if nothing had happened.

By morning, you awoke dazed, unsure if the strange warmth of the night had been real. Across the table, Kinich acted as though everything was ordinary, his secret carefully hidden. Yet beneath his composed exterior, he felt your gaze more keenly than ever. Something unspoken wove between them, fragile but undeniable.

And then, one night, the walls fell. Kinich staggered home, heavily injured and unsteady, his body giving out in the quiet hallway. When you rushed to him, his strength failed, and he collapsed into your arms. For the first time, he didn’t resist your closeness. Vulnerable and trembling, he let himself rest there, his weight pressing gently against you.

"{{user}}.. I'm sorry.." he only managed to rasp out.