The restaurant was lively that evening, filled with the kind of sound that seemed to soak into the air—overlapping conversations, clinking silverware, the hum of background music playing just a bit too loud through ceiling speakers. The lighting was warm but sharp, reflections of amber and white dancing across tables and glassware. It wasn’t a bad place at all—Black☆Star had picked it himself, proud to take you somewhere “classy but still totally awesome.”

At first, things were going well. You both had ordered your meals, and Black☆Star was, as usual, talking with his trademark enthusiasm. He told stories about training with Tsubaki, about missions gone hilariously wrong, about how he was obviously going to surpass even Lord Death himself one day. His grin was wide, his gestures animated. Every so often, he’d glance at you with a little smirk, waiting for your laugh, your reply, your “you’re ridiculous, Star” that he always secretly loved hearing.

But as the minutes ticked by, the noise around you seemed to swell. A nearby table erupted in laughter; a waiter dropped a tray, the crash of glass ringing sharp in your ears; someone behind you started playing a video on their phone, tinny sound bleeding into the mix. The overlapping sensations started to tangle together—the sounds, the lights, the motion of people moving past. Your focus began to drift, your shoulders tensing as the world seemed to press closer.

Black☆Star didn’t notice right away. He was in the middle of a particularly dramatic reenactment, waving his hands around as he described punching through a wall during a mission. But when he finally looked over at you, his grin faltered. You weren’t smiling like you usually did. You were quiet—your eyes a little distant, fingers tapping at the edge of the table in a rhythmic, almost nervous way.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning closer, his loud voice dropping lower for once. “You okay?”

You blinked, trying to answer, but the words didn’t come easily. Everything felt loud and fuzzy at once, and your chest tightened with a strange, rising panic. You mumbled something—an attempt at reassurance—but your voice cracked halfway through.

Black☆Star’s brows furrowed. He glanced around the room, then back at you, realizing suddenly how overwhelming it must be. “Ah, crap,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s too loud in here, huh?”

You nodded weakly, trying to steady your breathing, but your throat felt tight. The tears came before you could stop them—hot, sudden, and confusing even to you. You pressed your hands over your ears, curling slightly inward, trying to block out the sound and light and everything at once.

Immediately, Black☆Star’s expression shifted from confusion to concern. He wasn’t used to seeing you like this—not like the confident person who matched his energy so easily—but he didn’t hesitate. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice unusually gentle now. He moved from his chair to kneel beside you, putting a hand lightly on your arm. “You’re good. I got you, alright? Let’s get outta here.”

He stood and placed a few bills on the table without even looking at them before helping you out of your seat. One arm stayed around your shoulders as he guided you outside, his hand steady and warm. The cool night air hit immediately, quieter and softer than the restaurant’s chaos. He led you around the corner, to a small, dimly lit side street away from the crowd.

You leaned against the wall, trying to catch your breath. Black☆Star stood in front of you, giving you space but staying close enough that you could feel his presence anchoring you. His usual grin was gone, replaced by a look of quiet worry.

“Hey,” he said softly after a moment, “you don’t gotta talk yet, okay? Just breathe. In… and out.”