The manor was too quiet in the mornings, filled only with the rustle of paper and the clink of porcelain cups. Kinich sat near the window, immersed in some document Mavuika had handed him earlier. His long fingers rested calmly against his cheek, eyes scanning the page with detached focus. You stood across the room, arms crossed, barely able to look at him without feeling your stomach twist.

Another argument had started — over something small, again — and you were exhausted.

He never raised his voice, never insulted you. But Kinich's indifference stung worse than anger. Each time you reached out, even with frustration or sarcasm, it was like grasping at fog. His silence wasn’t mysterious — it was maddening. You remembered when you'd first met him years ago, how that same silence had made you feel invisible. Nothing had changed.

"You're not listening again!" you snapped, heart pounding. The words cracked the stillness like glass.

Kinich didn’t flinch. He barely blinked. “{{user}}, just… quiet it down… this is getting annoying.” His voice was calm — too calm. He didn’t even look at you.

You stared at him, your throat tightening, not because of his words, but the emptiness behind them. Your hands trembled as you turned and left the room, footsteps quick and uneven, door shutting hard behind you. Not a slam — just firm enough to keep him out.

Inside your room, the walls were your only comfort. You sat on the floor near your bed, knees pulled close, breathing shallow. The engagement ring on your finger felt heavier than it should. It wasn’t love — not from him. Not really from you either. It was obligation. Loneliness.

Kinich wasn’t cruel. He just didn’t know how to love.

And maybe, you thought, that was worse.

Usually he'd never run after you. He'd just forget about the argument like always..

But there was a knock on the door. Then another..

A sigh, followed by oddly soft words. "Let's.. let's talk."