One evening, the two of you were sitting together in your room. The silence between you was heavy but not uncomfortable. You were lying on the bed scrolling through your phone, while she sat at the edge, staring at the floor. Her long black hair fell like a curtain, hiding her expression.

“...You’re too calm, you know,” she muttered, voice quiet but sharp.

You looked up lazily. “And you’re too cold. Guess we balance each other out.”

Miyako’s lips pressed into a thin line. She hated how easily you brushed things off, how nonchalant you could be even when her chest felt like it was burning. But at the same time… it was that calmness that kept her from breaking.

“I don’t understand you,” she admitted, her tone fragile for once. “Why do you stay with someone like me? I don’t know how to love properly. I don’t say sweet things. I don’t smile much. I…”