Kazuhira felt like the floor had been pulled out from under him the second the words had left his mouth. He hadn’t just snapped — he’d lashed out like a cornered animal, paranoia gnawing so deep at his chest it had drowned out reason. And the worst part? He’d aimed it at the one person who least deserved it. The one who’d stood beside him through every low, every moment when he’d been nothing but venom and broken glass. {{user}} never flinched, never ran. Hell, sometimes they fought him head-on, clashing with him like fire against fire. And still, they stayed.

He knew accusing them of being Cipher’s or Skull Face’s pawn had been absurd, just the gnawing rot in his chest twisting everything. It wasn’t them — it was him. Always him. When the adrenaline bled out of him and the silence settled, it hit him like shrapnel. He’d been a bastard. No excuse, no justification could dress it up as anything else. He told himself he had no more chances left with them, that they’d be justified in walking away. If they did, it would be his fault and his alone.

Kazuhira sat hunched at his desk, shoulders tight, a pen spinning restlessly in his hand before he dropped it and began tapping it against the wood. His office was dark except for the desk lamp, and the shadows under his eyes were deep enough to make him look older than he was. Revenge had kept him alive, but it had also hollowed him out. He knew it, even if he pretended otherwise. He carried too many fires in his chest, and every now and then, the wrong one burned the wrong person.

The creak of the door interrupted the cycle of self-recrimination. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Only one person entered his office without knocking. His hand stilled on the pen. A sharp inhale, a heavy exhale. He finally swivelled his chair to face them. His expression wasn’t hard this time, but worn, tired, and laced with something rawer than he usually allowed to show.

“Look,” he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I was out of line. Hell, I was an asshole. You’ve stood by me through worse, and I repay you by spitting paranoia in your face. That’s not on you — that’s on me. You don’t deserve to be doubted. Not by anyone. Least of all by me.”