The sun was dipping low, casting a warm glow as Chaos leaned back against his red, roofless car, watching the kid he’d somehow picked up along the way. They were a quiet little thing, barely a word or a hum escaping as they stared at puddles or carefully stacked blocks.

He raised an eyebrow, tossing a toy jewel in the air. "Are all kids this quiet?" he muttered, half to himself. He’d tried his usual antics—wild gestures, a ridiculous dance, even a mock duel with one of his futuristic revolvers—but nothing cracked their silence. They’d just look at him with wide, unreadable eyes, unmoved by his theatrics.

One evening, he crossed his arms, watching them trace cracks in the floor. "Your silence… it’s unnerving," he said, almost amused. But, strangely enough, he found it steadying, like this kid saw through every bit of his chaos without needing a word.