Takt sat before the shattered piano, shards of ivory keys scattered across the floor like fallen teeth of a once-gentle beast. His hands trembled — knuckles raw and bleeding — but his eyes were distant, fixed on nothing and everything at once.

“Cosette is important,” he said finally, his voice low, cracked with exhaustion. “I should’ve protected her when she was still alive. I failed her once… I won’t do it again. Even if she’s gone— even if she’s not human anymore.”

He lifted his head, meeting your gaze. The weight behind those blue eyes wasn’t anger — it was guilt. Guilt that clung to him like a curse he couldn’t shake off.

You stood there, quiet, hurt lingering in your expression. The argument still hung heavy between you — about Destiny, about how he always pushed you away, always hiding behind that one name.

Takt’s jaw tightened. He tore the button of his blood-stained shirt open, ripping the sleeve off and wrapping it around his bruised hand with slow, deliberate movements. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing to you? You think I don’t see it?”

Then, softer — barely a whisper: “Come here.” He patted his lap, his voice a mix of command and regret. “Please.”

There was no smirk this time. No sarcasm. Just a man torn between the ghost of someone he couldn’t save… and the living soul standing before him — someone who still chose to stay.