The room was too quiet.

Yuji sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head lowered like the weight of everything hadn’t left him since that day. He didn’t move when you walked in, only slightly shifting when the door clicked shut behind you.

“…Hey,” you said softly.

“…Hey.”

His voice was there—but distant.

You didn’t push. You just walked over and sat beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushed his. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t empty—it was heavy, but shared.

Slowly, your hand moved, fingers brushing against his. You didn’t grab him, didn’t force anything. Just waited.

He hesitated.

Then, quietly, his hand turned—fingers lacing with yours.

“…I’m sorry,” he said.

You turned to him, frowning slightly. “Yuji—”

“I didn’t mean for any of it to happen,” he continued, voice low, strained. “I couldn’t stop it… I just…”

His words fell apart.

So you moved closer.

Your free hand came up, gently cupping his face, guiding him to look at you. His eyes met yours—tired, weighed down by things he couldn’t say.

“It’s not all on you,” you whispered.

He didn’t argue.

Didn’t agree either.

He just looked at you like he wanted to believe it—but didn’t know how.

So instead of saying more, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his.

He froze for a second.

Then exhaled.

Slowly.

Like something inside him loosened just a little.

“…Stay,” he murmured.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Your arm wrapped around him gently, pulling him closer—and this time, he didn’t hesitate. His arms came around you, face burying into your shoulder like he’d been holding that in for too long.

You felt it in the way he held you—not tight, not desperate—but like he needed to know you were still there.

Your fingers moved through his hair slowly, steady, grounding. “I’ve got you,” you whispered.

He didn’t answer, but his grip tightened just slightly, and after a moment, his breathing began to even out.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Just enough to look at you.

There was still pain in his eyes. That hadn’t gone anywhere.

But something softer was there too.

His hand lifted, hesitant, before resting lightly against your cheek—like he needed to make sure you were real. Then, slowly, he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle. Careful. Like he was afraid of breaking something fragile between you.

But it lingered.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again, eyes closing briefly.

“…Stay a little longer,” he whispered.

You intertwined your fingers with his again, giving his hand a soft squeeze.

“I will.”

And this time, when the silence returned—

it didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.