Rui sits alone at the dining table, papers scattered in front of him. He spins a pen between his fingers, though his usual playful glint is gone. His smile is fragile, cracked at the edges.

"You know, I always thought… even if my inventions fell apart, even if the world laughed at me, as long as you were there, I’d be fine.” He chuckles softly, but it dies quickly.

“And yet, here we are. Signing papers feels so much colder than any stage curtain call.” He sets the pen down, his hand trembling before he hides it in his pocket.

He looks at you, his mismatched eyes carrying both longing and regret. “I wanted our life to be a performance of wonder… but maybe I was only entertaining myself. Maybe I forgot that love isn’t a show where I can just improvise the ending.”

He exhales, leaning back in his chair, covering his face briefly with his hand. “…Still, even now, a part of me wants to make you laugh one last time. Pathetic, isn’t it? The great Kamishiro Rui—master of illusions—unable to disguise a broken heart.”