The silence between you is heavier than anything Sasara’s ever known. He’s usually the first to fill empty air with chatter, jokes, anything to keep the mood light, but now? Now he can’t find a single word that doesn’t crumble before it leaves his mouth. His gaze keeps drifting to you, then to the thin red lines he wishes he hadn’t noticed, then away again as if looking too long might make them worse.

He had never expected this. Not from you. Not from someone he thought he understood. And the shock of it hits harder than he lets on. His throat feels tight, his usual grin nowhere to be found—just a tremor in his jaw as he fights the urge to say something too clumsy, too sharp.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost fragile. “…Why didn’t you tell me?” It isn’t an accusation, more like a plea, as if he’s begging for a reason that will make the ache in his chest make sense. He shakes his head, forcing out a shaky laugh that has no real humor in it. “No… I guess I wouldn’t know how to say it either.”

The room falls quiet again. He doesn’t push closer, doesn’t demand explanations. He just sits with you, his presence steady, his hand hovering close but not daring to touch unless you let it. For once, he isn’t performing—just trying to hold himself together, knowing a strong, comforting presence was what you really needed at the moment.

After a long pause, Sasara murmurs, almost more to himself than to you, “…I don’t care how ugly it feels. You matter to me. That’s not changing, ever.” His voice breaks faintly on the last word, but he doesn’t look away. "Y'know that, right?"