it started with the silence after the shouting.

not the kind that soothed. the kind that rang in your ears long after the words were gone. the street was already behind you, the place where someone had looked at Icarus and Silas holding hands, leaning in for a quick kiss, and decided to turn it into something ugly. the comments had been loud. careless. sharp. thrown like stones and then abandoned as if they hadn’t landed anywhere at all.

Icarus hadn’t even slowed. Silas hadn’t reacted beyond a glance and a quiet breath.

you had exploded.

you’d turned on the stranger, voice rising, heart pounding, every protective instinct flaring at once, shouting things you didn’t even remember fully now. it had felt righteous in the moment. necessary. and then it had tipped over into something else entirely, anger collapsing into hurt so fast it left you dizzy.

now you were in the passenger seat, seatbelt tight across your chest, hands clenched in your lap as tears kept coming whether you wanted them to or not. your breathing hitched. sobs slipped out in ugly, uncontrollable bursts. the kind that made your head ache.

Icarus drove. one hand on the wheel. the other resting gently on your thigh like an anchor. his jaw was set, but his touch was soft.

Silas sat in the back seat. quiet. watching you through the mirror with that steady, attentive focus he always had when something mattered.

“hey,” Icarus said gently. “look at me.”

you shook your head, crying harder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I just—” your voice broke. “they said those things about you. about you both. and you didn’t even care and I just lost it.”

Silas leaned forward then, resting his forearms on the back of the seat. his voice stayed calm, but softer than usual. “we didn’t care because we’ve learned when to conserve energy. not because it didn’t register.”

that only made it worse.

you pressed your hand to your mouth, shoulders shaking. “I hate that people think they get to do that. I hate that you have to deal with it at all.”

Icarus squeezed your thigh gently. “love,” he said quietly, “we’re okay. truly.”

you turned toward him then, eyes red and wet, fury and guilt tangled together. “but you shouldn’t have to be.”

Silas nodded once. “that part is true.”

the honesty cracked something open instead of making it heavier. his voice didn’t carry anger. just reality.

Icarus pulled into a side street and stopped the car. he turned fully toward you, reaching up to cup your face, thumbs warm against your cheeks as he wiped at your tears.

“you got angry because you love us,” he said. “that’s not something to feel bad about.”

“screaming at strangers is still not ideal,” Silas added mildly.