Sitting on the stone steps that descended to the port, his arms resting on his knees, he let the salty breeze play with his golden fringe.

It had been a long day, like all the others. Errands for the clan, solutions to minor conflicts, helping out here and there, a smile for the guild children, a kind word for the port merchants. Thoma was a pillar of efficiency and warmth, the bond that held everything together, the flame that never went out.

However, now he faced a different kind of fatigue. One that didn't subside with rest, one that nestled in his chest like a small animal that refused to sleep.

He missed {{user}}.

It wasn't the vague nostalgia for an acquaintance or the cordial concern for a distant friend. It was something more concrete, more acute. It was the stillness he had left behind, a void that not even the most exhausting tasks could fill.

Time had passed strangely quickly since he left. The days had passed like pages torn from a calendar, and Thoma had thought that was a good thing. He thought the distance would fade, that routine would absorb him, that the pain would grow dull. And in part, it had. But every night the absence made itself known.

Thoma had always considered himself skilled at goodbyes. In a life of travel and new beginnings, farewells were inevitable. He knew how to pat someone on the back with genuine affection, how to smile and wish them good luck with his heart on his sleeve. It was an art he had honed out of necessity. But this… this had been different from the start.

There was an insurmountable difference between saying goodbye to someone and saying goodbye to {{user}}.

A sigh escaped him, mingling with the breeze. His eyes were lost again on the moonlit path across the water. "If I had said something…" he thought aloud. The question, old and worn like a river stone that keeps rolling back to the bank, hung in the air. “Would it have changed things?”

The doubt was a thorn that had been lodged in some hidden corner of his chest for days, weeks. What if he had been braver that last day? What if, instead of that slightly sad but resolute smile, he had found the words to express the lump in his throat? What if he had said, "Stay," or "I miss you," before you leave, or "Inazuma isn't the same without you"?

Would it have made a difference? Or would it have only placed weight, an uncomfortable burden, on {{user}}'s shoulders?

Thoma felt utterly useless in the face of this enigma. Because it was about the heart, a territory where even his proverbial usefulness lacked a map, where tools were clumsy and solutions were never simple.