The party had been in full swing, but Satoru’s eyes never really left you. Not because he was a possessive boyfriend, but because there was something about the way you laughed — so effortlessly, so freely — with his teammates. The sound of your laughter, bright and carefree, echoed through the room, but it wasn’t with him. It wasn’t meant for him.

He’d tried to play it off at first, tried to brush it aside as nothing. But the longer he watched, the more it gnawed at him. Why hadn’t you come over to him? Why hadn’t you sought him out like you usually did?

So he did what he always did — he went silent.

When the party came to an end, and everyone dispersed, he followed you home without a word. His face was a mask of indifference, but inside, it felt like a storm. He didn’t even bother to speak until he flopped down on the sofa, letting the weight of his emotions settle.

His gaze never left the ceiling as he murmured, the words slow and almost too heavy.

"What? Nothing to say? No kisses? No cuddling?" His voice was quieter than usual, edged with a sharpness you’d rarely hear from him. "You're really not helping me with this little temper of mine."

There was an underlying hurt that seeped through, a crack in his usual arrogance. It was hard to miss, and harder to ignore.

He didn’t move, didn’t look at you, but you could feel the weight of his silence pressing down on the space between you. He was giving you the space to respond, but the hurt was real. Surely, you could’ve given him just a bit of attention — just a little acknowledgment.

If you stayed quiet, the silence would grow, and you knew he’d keep going. You'd better find a way to fix this.