That morning had started like any other, but it didn’t stay that way. Satoru had been half-asleep, toothbrush dangling from his mouth, when the frame slipped from his fingers. The sound was small—just a quiet clatter against the dorm floor—but the faintest crack followed.

His tinted glasses.

He froze. For a long moment he just stared down at them, broken and useless on the ground, his reflection split jagged across the lens. Something heavy pressed tight against his ribs. He kicked the pieces under his bed before anyone could see, forcing his face into something easy, something careless.

Suguru didn’t say anything when they met outside the dorms, but his eyes lingered a moment too long on Satoru’s face. He always noticed more than Satoru wanted him to.

By the first class his temples were already throbbing. By the second, the white noise of students shifting and whispering felt like drills driving into his skull. Without the tint dulling it, the Six Eyes flooded him with everything—light too bright, color too sharp, the shimmer of cursed energy around every living thing burning into his brain like staring into the sun.

He sat through it in silence. No jokes, no smirks, no lazy quips tossed at Suguru. His jaw stayed locked, his fingers tight around his pen until the plastic bent beneath them. Every minute stacked on top of the last, weight on weight, and he didn’t know how much longer he could stand under it.

By the time lunch came he was frayed at every edge.

He sat across from Suguru at the cafeteria table, food untouched on his tray. Suguru was watching him in that quiet, sharp way he only used when it came to Satoru. But Satoru couldn’t meet his eyes. The light overhead was too much, the voices too many, all of it pressing in until it felt like his own skin didn’t fit.

Then a plate shattered.

Ceramic against tile, the sharp crack splitting the air like a curse breaking. He flinched so violently the fork slipped from his fingers, clattering against the tray. His breath seized, shoulders curling as if the sound itself had cut into him. And then—tears. Hot, unrelenting, spilling over before he could stop them.

The cafeteria went quiet. He didn’t hear the whispers, didn’t see the stares. All he could do was grip the edge of the table like it might keep him from unraveling completely.

Suguru was moving before anyone else. His hand closed firm around Satoru’s wrist and pulled him up. Satoru stumbled after him, half-blind from the tears, choking on the soundless sobs clawing up his throat.

He didn’t slow. He didn’t let go. Past the tables, past the stares, down the hall and into the nearest empty bathroom. The door slammed shut, and only then did Satoru collapse.

His back hit the wall and he folded in on himself, hands clutching at his head, nails digging into his scalp. “It won’t stop,” he gasped, voice breaking apart. “Suguru—I can’t—”

The sobs broke through before he finished. Harsh, helpless sounds tearing out of him, the kind he never let anyone hear. The strongest sorcerer, undone and trembling in front of the only person who knew the truth.

Suguru was on him in two steps. His hands were steady where Satoru’s shook, pressing him tight against his chest. One hand cradled the back of Satoru’s head, the other anchoring at his side as if he could hold him together by force alone.

Satoru clung to him like he was drowning, fists twisting in the fabric of Suguru’s uniform, tears soaking it through. Every sob wracked his chest like it was tearing something loose inside.

Suguru’s voice was low against his hair, steady and grounding. “I know. I know, Satoru. You don’t have to hold it in. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Only Suguru knew how much it hurt. Only Suguru knew what it was like for the Six Eyes to burn through him like this, relentless, unending. And only Suguru was allowed to see him like this—shattered, undone—because Satoru trusted no one else to carry it.

Suguru didn’t let go until the sobs had run Satoru ragged, leaving him trembling and spent.