Romance

Fadel sank onto the couch, his body heavy with a mixture of exhaustion and frustration. He sat there, staring down at his hands, trying to hold it together—trying not to let the wave of emotions crash over him. The weight of Bison's words, the truth he'd been running from, felt too big to carry. He couldn't breathe right.

All this time, he'd been pretending—pretending that Kant didn't matter, that the quiet ache in his chest wasn't a big deal, that nothing had shifted between them. But it had.

And now, it was out in the open.

He could feel the tension in his bones, the pull to break down. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. Not here, not now.

Taking a deep breath, Fadel lifted his eyes toward Bison, forcing his voice to stay steady despite the way his heart was thudding in his chest. "Where's Kant?" he asked quietly. The words felt like they were dragging out of him, reluctant to escape.

Bison didn't hesitate. His gaze softened, but there was a hint of understanding there—something Fadel couldn't quite place.

"Kant?" Bison repeated, as if he needed a moment to gather his thoughts before answering. "He said he wanted to go back to the stars for a bit. He left."

Fadel's heart dropped. His brow furrowed as the meaning of Bison's words sank in.

"Stars?" Fadel echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bison gave a small nod, his eyes glancing over to Style, who had been quietly watching the exchange. "Yeah. He said he needed some space. Wanted to be where he could think. Some place quiet." He paused before adding, "You know where that is."

Fadel froze, the realization hitting him like a bolt of lightning. The rooftop.

The rooftop.

The place they had gone to when everything had spiraled out of control—the shootout, the danger, the fear, the rawness of the moment that had brought them together in a way Fadel still couldn't fully comprehend. They had hidden there, side by side, watching the city stretch out beneath them, letting the stars remind them that there was something bigger than the chaos they had been caught in.

He hadn't thought about it in weeks. But now... now it made sense.

Kant had retreated there. Because that was where they had found a moment of peace amidst everything else. It had been their place, their brief escape, their shared breath of air.

"Damn it," Fadel muttered under his breath, the realization making his chest tighten painfully.

He had been so sure that Kant would stay—so sure that he'd just brush off the fight, the tension, everything. But no, Kant had left. He'd gone back to where he found a sliver of peace. A place that had meant something to both of them, even if they hadn't talked about it.

Fadel's mind raced as he sat there, trying to piece together the puzzle that had become his relationship with Kant. He'd spent so much time pretending, running from whatever this was, and now it felt like the walls were closing in. He couldn't breathe like this anymore. He couldn't pretend like he didn't care.

The realization hit him hard—he had to figure this out. Whatever this mess was between them, whatever he was feeling, he needed to face it. He couldn't just sit here, lost in his own frustration, waiting for things to resolve on their own.

Fadel stood up abruptly, his hands balled into fists at his sides, every inch of him driven by the need to confront what they'd both been avoiding.

"I'm going to find him," he said quietly, more to himself than to Bison and Style, though they both heard him.

Bison nodded, his expression unreadable but giving a subtle, encouraging look. "Do what you gotta do."

Style, too, was quiet for once, his usual grin replaced with something softer. "You'll figure it out. But just... don't run after him like you're chasing a ghost, okay? Talk to him."

Fadel didn't respond. He didn't need to. All he knew was that he had to go. He couldn't leave things like this. He couldn't leave Kant out there, sitting in the quiet of the rooftop, lost in his own thoughts.

He pushed past the door, his mind already heading in the direction he knew he needed to go—the place that had become an unspoken tether between them.

The streets were quieter now, the evening stretching on, but it didn't matter. Fadel moved with purpose, the weight of every unspoken word between them making him feel more determined with every step. He didn't know what he was going to say, but he couldn't let this linger.

When he finally reached the building, he found himself at the base of the stairs that led up to the roof. The familiar feeling of the place wrapped around him—the memory of them both sitting there, side by side, talking about things they hadn't said to anyone else. The shootout, the aftermath, the quiet understanding they'd found in the chaos.

Fadel's heart raced as he climbed the steps, each one heavy with the anticipation of whatever conversation was waiting for him. When he reached the rooftop, the door creaked open, and he stepped out into the cool night air.

Kant was sitting there, just as he'd expected—leaning against the edge, looking out at the city, the same distant expression on his face. The same one he'd had that night, weeks ago, when they had both been trying to make sense of everything.

Fadel stood there for a moment, watching him, trying to gather his thoughts. He had so much to say, so much that had been left unsaid for far too long. But the words wouldn't come easily.

Instead, he took a step closer, his voice steady but soft. "You couldn't stay, could you?"

Kant didn't turn around, but there was a slight shift in his posture, like he'd heard the question more than he was willing to acknowledge. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I needed to think. To get away from everything."

Fadel took another step closer, now standing just a few feet away from him. "You could've come back. You didn't have to disappear."

Kant's eyes flickered toward him then, but he didn't meet his gaze directly. "I don't know how to fix this, Fadel. I don't even know where to start."

Fadel's chest tightened. He didn't know what had made him come here—whether it was the need to confront the truth, or the simple fact that he couldn't keep pretending anymore. But as he stood there, looking at Kant, something clicked.

"I don't know how to fix it either," Fadel admitted, his voice barely above a murmur. "But we can figure it out together, right?"

The air between them seemed to still, as if the world was holding its breath. Kant's eyes locked onto Fadel's, searching his face, the silence stretching out in a way that felt almost unbearable.

Then, slowly, Kant nodded, just once. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough to tell Fadel that maybe—just maybe—they weren't as lost as they'd thought.