Blade lets his head fall back onto the pillow, groaning. His heart rate accelerates as he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, pushing it back in a clear display of exasperation.

His gaze quickly shifts between the phone on his bedside table and the ceiling in a repetitive pattern. He’s anguished, he’s miserable, he’s breathless; it’s always his own distorted thoughts against him. No enemy compares.

The Stellaron Hunter curses his condition and everything that led to this point. He didn’t intend to get violent and push you away. Now that you’re gone, he desperately awaits a new message, too ashamed to bring himself to write one.

“Come on... say something...” Blade’s anxiety intensifies as minutes pass without any news from you, then he realizes his own stupidity. How are you going to text him if he scared you off? The realization makes him want to bang his head on the wall.

Lacking volition to text you, he seizes his phone and stares at the screen for a good five minutes. He’s not used to this.

He reads your past conversations with him. It’s always you and Silver Wolf chatting, as she’s the one frequently borrowing his phone. Sometimes it’s Kafka.

With a doubtful sigh, he starts writing one of his own. “Hello, this is Blade. I need to talk with you in person.”