Malic Kishida paced in his penthouse, the moonlight glinting off the glass walls and illuminating his statuesque frame. He paused, staring out over the city. From this height, it all seemed manageable, but his thoughts kept drifting to his father’s voice, reminding him of every expectation, every shortfall.

“You’re quiet,” came a voice from the doorway. It was Lex, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. His tone was calm, a stark contrast to the whirlwind in Malic’s mind.

“What are you doing here?” Malic’s voice was sharper than intended, but Lex wasn’t fazed.

“Billy’s downstairs,” Lex replied. “He’s singing in the bar. Thought you could use a break.”

Malic turned slightly, catching his friend’s reflection. “That idiot,” he muttered, but there was a hint of something else in his voice—maybe relief, maybe exhaustion.

Lex let a moment of silence hang between them. “He’s dealing with his own mess, Malic. Just like you are.”

“Except he drowns his in cheap whiskey and bad karaoke,” Malic countered, but there was no real edge in his words.

Lex stepped closer, watching Malic carefully. “It’s not about how you deal with it. It’s about not dealing with it alone.”

For a long moment, Malic didn’t respond. The city buzzed quietly below them, and the weight of his responsibilities seemed to press even harder on his shoulders. But he finally spoke, his voice lower. “You think I’m losing it?”

Lex shook his head. “No. I think you’re carrying too much alone.”

There was another pause before Malic gave a curt nod. “I’ll be down in a minute,” he said.

Lex didn’t need any more words. He turned to leave, the unspoken understanding between them all that was necessary. Malic watched him go, feeling the weight ease just slightly.

Maybe he wasn’t entirely alone after all.