You didn’t think much of it.

It was just a moment with Aldebaran — harmless fun. You were curious about how strong he really was, and the Taurus Saint had laughed heartily, more than happy to toss you in the air like a paperweight and catch you with one massive arm.

You were laughing too, breathless from the adrenaline. “You’re like a walking mountain,” you joked. “Your hand could crush me if you sneezed.”

Aldebaran just grinned. “Guess it’s good I don’t sneeze often.”

You didn’t notice the shift in the air until much later — not until the meal that evening, when everyone had gathered in the Grand Hall. Sisifo sat to your right, calm as always, golden hair pristine, posture perfect.

But his hand, the one that always rested just slightly over yours during these dinners, was gone.

And when you glanced up, his eyes weren’t on you.

They were locked, dead silent, on Aldebaran across the table — eyes slightly narrowed. Not angry. Not cruel. But undeniably cold. Calculating.

Your heart dropped.

You leaned in toward him, brushing your fingers lightly over his arm. “Hey,” you whispered. “You okay?”

He blinked and turned to you like nothing had happened, expression softening in an instant. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

That’s when you knew. He’d seen it. All of it. And worse, he’d taken it to heart.

Later that night, you found him alone on the balcony — facing the stars, arms crossed over his chest, wings retracted. Beautiful, untouchable.

You slipped behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I didn’t know you could sulk.”

He didn’t laugh. Just exhaled.

“I’m not sulking.”

You rested your cheek against his back. “You’re doing that silent withdrawal thing. It’s like hugging a statue.”

“…You asked someone else to catch you,” he murmured. “You don’t ask me for things like that.”

You smiled, then slowly turned him around and placed his hand flat on your waist. “Well, next time, I’ll ask the man who can actually fly.”

That got him. He chuckled, finally — low and warm — and pulled you close again, resting his forehead against yours.

“No more flying with Taurus.”

“No more sulking with Sagittarius,” you countered.

Fair deal.