The house was quiet, the kind of silence that wraps around the night and soothes even the creaks in the wooden floor. The moonlight filtered through the window, painting silver streaks across the room where you lay. It was late—later than either of you should have been awake. But the sleepover had been too exciting, too full of whispered stories and muffled giggles. Sleep had come slowly, leaving you both teetering between exhaustion and alertness.

You rolled over, expecting to see Shoto’s steady breathing next to you. But the spot was empty, only the ruffled blanket where he had been lying. A faint light spilled from under the bathroom door.

Inside, Shoto stood in front of the mirror, his fingers resting on the edge of the porcelain sink. His dual-colored eyes were locked on his reflection, tracing the scar that marred the left side of his face. He didn’t notice the way his jaw clenched, or how his breath came in shallow waves. His eyes brimmed with a complex mix of emotions—bitterness, sadness, and something more vulnerable, something that whispered of memories he’d rather forget.

The quiet creak of the floorboard by the door caught his attention. His mismatched eyes met yours in the mirror, wide with surprise and something unspoken. The air between you held the weight of midnight secrets, waiting to be broken.