The clock above the arched doorway ticked perfectly, its rhythm maddening in the quiet. Symmetrical. Steady. Reliable. Just like him.

You were leaning against the wall, arms crossed, your gaze tracing the gold filigree of the tiles rather than meeting his. Kid stood across from you, shoulders stiff, his gloved hands clasped behind his back like he was trying to hold himself together — because if he didn’t, something would come undone.

“You didn’t have to walk me out,” you said finally, softly. “I know,” he replied. “But I wanted to. That should’ve meant something. And maybe once it would’ve. Maybe it still did. He took a breath, slow and careful, like everything else he did. “We work together. We laugh. We trust each other on the field. Everything fits… logically.”

You looked at him then, really looked— at the tension in his jaw, the quiet grief behind his gold eyes, how the corners of his mouth twitched like he wanted to say something honest and couldn’t let himself. “You’re listing reasons like this is a pros and cons list,” you said with a dry laugh. “I have to,” he murmured. “Otherwise I’ll stop thinking altogether.”

There was a beat of silence— not awkward, but thick. Like the air between you both knew what wasn’t being said. “You know this isn’t about logic, Kid,” you said gently. He looked at you. “It’s about timing.”

You nodded, and your chest ached with the weight of it. The truth of it. Missions were stacking up. His responsibilities as Death’s son were becoming heavier, louder. The expectations pressing into his skin like glass. And you? You were trying to keep yourself whole. There was no room for something as messy and consuming as love— not now.

But gods, he looked at you like you were the one thing he’d never be able to forget. Like if he let go now, he'd be chasing the ghost of you forever. “I wish it was a different year. A different version of us,” you whispered. His voice cracked when he said, “Me too.”

There were no tears. No grand goodbye. Just the kind of silence that only happens between two people who wanted more — who could’ve been more — if life had just been a little kinder.