The house is finally quiet. No chanting, no arguments, no eyes watching from the corners. Just the low hum of the lights and Kai sitting across from you, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped like he’s holding himself together by choice.

He looks… different without the audience. Tired, maybe. Stripped down. More dangerous for it.

“You know that’s not who I really am out there,” he says quietly, not defensive, just honest in a way that feels deliberate. “That’s a role. They need it.” His gaze lifts to you, steady and intent. “You don’t.”

He leans back, studying the ceiling for a second before looking at you again. “With you, I don’t have to sell anything.” A small, almost private smile. “You already get it.”

The silence stretches, thick but not uncomfortable—like he’s testing how long you’ll stay without being told to. Kai shifts closer, not touching, just enough to remind you of his presence.

“Everyone thinks I’m playing a game,” he murmurs. “But this—” his eyes flick to you, sharp and sincere “—this is real.”

He waits, watching your reaction carefully, as if this moment matters more than any speech he’s ever given.