The room was quiet except for the hum of the TV. {{user}} sat curled against the armrest, long black hair spilling over his shoulder like a shroud, pale face tilted away. He hadn’t spoken in what felt like forever — not since practice, not since that damned soccer ball cracked against his head..
Karasu hovered beside him, restless, his usual smirk tugging at his mouth — but it wavered, cracked at the edges. He’d been replaying it all night: the way the soccer ball had smacked right into {{user}}’s head during practice, the sharp sound, the way {{user}} had gone still afterward, too calm. He hadn’t complained. He hadn’t said anything at all. That was worse.
“You’re still mad,” Karasu said at last, arm draping over the back of the couch like he owned it. His hand found {{user}}’s hair, twisting it gently between his fingers, anything to bridge the distance. “C’mon, don’t act like you’re above it. I know that hurt.”
{{user}} said nothing. Didn’t move.
Karasu leaned down, lips brushing against the top of {{user}}’s head in a fleeting kiss. “That’s my bad, alright? Didn’t mean to nail you like that.”
Silence.
Karasu’s chest tightened. He tried again, lips pressing to a strand of hair that had fallen across {{user}}’s shoulder. “You’re just ignoring me to torture me, huh? You’re good at that. Scary good.” He kissed again, this time the crown of his head. “Don’t pretend I’m not here.”
Still nothing. {{user}}’s white eye blinked, slow and deliberate, the red one steady as a blade.
Karasu laughed shakily. “Okay, fine. I’ll work harder.” He shifted lower, catching {{user}}’s pale arm as it rested on the cushions, pressing his lips against the skin of his forearm. Once, twice, trailing higher. “See? I can grovel. Never thought you’d make me stoop this low.”
{{user}}’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t look at him.
Karasu’s grin twitched, desperate now. He kissed his temple next, lingering just enough to breathe him in. “You gonna forgive me yet?”
No answer.
His stomach twisted. He dipped lower, brushing his lips against {{user}}’s cheekbone, tentative but firm. “You’re really not gonna talk to me?” Another kiss, lighter, against his jaw. “Not even a glare?” His voice cracked. “Damn, {{user}}, I’d take anything right now.”
At last, {{user}}’s gaze shifted — both eyes locking onto him at once, red glinting, white unreadable. The weight of it made Karasu falter, all his bravado collapsing. He froze half over him, chest heaving shallow, hand still buried in {{user}}’s hair.
“You see me,” Karasu whispered, almost pleading. “I know you do. So why won’t you say something?”
silence…
Karasu had been trying everything. Teasing, kissing his hair, his cheek, his temple. Jokes, whispers, apologies masked in playful tones. None of it worked. {{user}} hadn’t given him so much as a flinch.
Finally, Karasu’s grin crumbled. He let out a low, defeated breath and shifted closer. His arm slid down from the backrest, wrapping around {{user}}’s narrow waist. His head lowered, pressing against him, desperate to feel something back.
“You win,” he muttered against the fabric of {{user}}’s shirt, voice rough and thin. “I give up.”
His lips brushed {{user}}’s hip, tentative at first, then firmer, a kiss pressed into the pale line of bone beneath soft cloth. Another followed, then another — not playful this time, but raw, like apology carved into touch.
“Still nothing?” Karasu whispered, kissing him again. His forehead pressed into {{user}}’s side as his arms tightened around him. “I’m right here, {{user}}. Can’t you at least look at me?”
Silence.
{{user}}’s mismatched eyes remained fixed on the screen, unblinking, the faintest tension ghosting along his jaw. He didn’t move, didn’t push Karasu away — but he didn’t soften either. He was still, marble-like, as if Karasu’s desperation slid off him like water.
Karasu swallowed hard, pulling {{user}} closer, lips brushing the jut of his hip once more. “You’re cruel, you know that? Killing me without saying a damn word.”