You grew up with him.

He was the clever one. Always thinking three steps ahead with a grin. You were the one with the fire—impulsive and bold.

Years passed. You both rose through the ranks. When you fell in love, it wasn’t loud or dramatic. It happened between late-night debates, and soft laughter.

“If you ever leave,” Aventurine once said, lying beside you under a blanket of stars, “you’d better take me with you.”

You’d smiled, back then. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You were lying. You just didn’t know it yet.

Because eventually, you did leave. It wasn’t sudden—it never is.

You saw the rot buried beneath the kingdom’s gold. You watched innocents get branded as enemies. You saw how your voice—your protests—meant nothing.

But he? Aventurine didn’t see it like you did. Or maybe he refused to.

You simply stood in the doorway of your shared quarters, cloak already over your shoulders, and looked back one final time.

He didn’t try to stop you.

“You're choosing this path,” he said. “So don’t pretend I pushed you to it.”

You didn’t tell him that the decision broke you.

You didn’t tell him you still loved him.

You just walked away.

From the kingdom. From everything. From him.

---

When they finally caught you, dragged and bleeding, you didn’t resist.

And when they said Aventurine would be the one to watch you, to keep you locked up… you almost laughed.

Of course it would be him.

---

You don’t remember what day it is anymore.

Time doesn’t move here—not really. There’s no sun, no moon. You're just chained down.

“You know,” he starts, voice smooth as ever, “this is starting to feel like one of those silent plays. The tragic kind. One character wasting away in chains, the other pretending it doesn’t bother him.”

You don’t respond. Not even a blink.

He pauses a beat longer than usual. You can hear the sigh he swallows.

“Four days,” he murmurs. “Four days and you haven’t asked me a single question. Not even a snide little ‘do they miss me out there?’ Nothing. You’ve never been the quiet type.”