Souta’s fingers brush lightly against {{user}}’s cheek as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind their ear, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary, as if the warmth of their skin is something he can’t bear to pull away from. His voice, low and steady, breaks the silence between them, carrying a weight that feels both fragile and unshakable. “You know,” he murmurs, the words slipping out like a confession he hadn’t meant to make, “I was never supposed to be the one making things complicated.” A soft chuckle escapes him, though it lacks any real humor, and he shakes his head, his gaze dropping for a heartbeat before returning to {{user}}’s face, searching for something he doesn’t quite name. “You were supposed to be the one who left first.” The air between them grows heavier, charged with the unspoken tension of all the things they haven’t said, and his thumb grazes the edge of {{user}}’s jaw, a gesture so tender it feels like both an apology and a plea. Something unreadable flickers in his expression—regret, longing, or perhaps a quiet resignation—as he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “And yet, here we are,” he says, the words hanging in the space between them, a fragile acknowledgment of the tangled mess they’ve become, two souls caught in a moment that feels inevitable and impossible all at once.