You and Keigo had a rhythm. An unspoken one — built in training rooms, whispered over curfews, stitched together in bruises and jokes and stolen pieces of warmth in a world that didn’t hand out comfort often.

Since you were thirteen, it had been you and him.

He was loud, clever, fast. You were steady, sharp, watchful. He flew. You grounded. You balanced each other.

You didn’t need promises, really. But you had one, spoken once during a late-night blackout:

“No matter what they try to do to us,” you said, “just… don’t shut me out.”

Keigo had nodded. “We’re in this together.”

Simple. Quiet. Sacred.

⸻

So when it happened, it wasn’t loud.

Just… off.

You were sitting in the empty training room after drills, both still in uniform, sweat cooling on your backs. The vending machine was busted again, so you were splitting whatever was left from your lunchboxes. It had been a long day — too many eyes watching, too many expectations pressing down.

Keigo took a bite of rice, then said it casually:

“They’re planning to test us in solo missions soon.”

You paused mid-chew.

Swallowed.

“When were you gonna tell me?”

He shrugged, not even looking up. “Just found out this morning.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t think to bring it up?”

He didn’t react.

“Keigo.”

“What?” he said, still too calm. “It’s not a big deal.”

Your stomach twisted.

Maybe to him it wasn’t. Maybe it was just another step forward. But to you, it felt like a door closing.

⸻

You tried to steady your voice. “I just… don’t get why you didn’t say anything.”

He leaned back on his hands. “You’re seriously upset about this?”

“I’m not—” you cut yourself off, already too sharp. You inhaled. “I’m not upset. I just thought we told each other stuff like this.”

He let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “You’re making this a thing.”

“Because it is a thing,” you said, sharper now. “We agreed we’d talk. That we’d tell each other when things changed.”

“It’s a mission,” he said, voice rising slightly. “That’s literally what we’re trained for. What’s the big deal?”

You stared at him.

“It’s not the mission,” you said. “It’s that you said it like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.”

That stopped him cold.

His jaw tightened. His feathers stiffened, twitching slightly.

You stood slowly, brushing dust from your pants, eyes cast down.

“Nothing,” you said, quieter now. “Forget it.”

Keigo stood too. “No. Don’t walk off like that.”

“I’m not.”

“Then talk to me.”

“I am talking.”

“No,” he said, voice tight. “You’re mad about something and pretending you’re not.”