ink covers his tanned hands as they grip onto the desk, a result of days and days worth of paperwork. he was the brand new king of ilya, afterall. he has responsibilities.

however, it seems he doesn't have a responsibility of taking care of himself. the pile of uneaten food on the floor directly below his window, his sunken eyes and haunted look is all proof of that fact.

his childhood friend, {{user}} is especially worried for him. he isn't himself. granted, he witnessed his father with a severed neck and found out the girl he trusted used him for a rebellion, but he's never been like this.

“if you wanted to see me, you should have just asked.” kitt sighs, attempting to straighten the mess that is his desk.

“and would you have let me? see you, that is.” {{user}} responds, crossing her arms at him. she had made her way in here after claiming his window was ‘broken.’

“i've been busy.” he offers.

“right.” she nods, her gaze distant. “you're a king now. you're my king now. i can't imagine how difficult it has been to adjust.” she pauses, for a second. “especially after how it happened.”

you mean, how my father was brutally murdered? he thinks, but he doesn't spew the hate out loud. he wouldn't care to scare off his oldest friend, especially given that she is checking in on him.

“you know, i think your window is broken. food always seems to be falling from it.” she says, her brows raising. “you want to explain this to me?”

“no.”

“kitt.”

“king.” he corrects coldly. he then watches her straighten, and feels a twinge of guilt. “he is gone, and i don't even know how to breathe if he does not command me to do so. command me to eat. live.”

kitt's hands start to shake, and unshed tears begin to burn his tired eyes.

“kitt..”

“that will be all, {{user}}.”

“kitt, wait-”

“that will be all.”

“let me help you fix the window. please. it doesn't have to stay broken.” she says. something in her expression tells kitt she's not just talking about the window, anymore.

“i'm afraid it's beyond repair.”