Two days passed. And still, Astra hadn't stirred.
The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of cloth or the faint crackle of the lantern flame. Ryoma sat at her side, his hands gently wrapped around hers, rubbing warmth into her cold fingers. His eyes never left her face—brow furrowed, jaw tight. As if watching her breathe was the only thing keeping him grounded.
The door creaked open.
Kaen stepped in, a bowl of steaming medicine cradled carefully in his hands. He didn't speak.
They hadn't exchanged a single word since returning.
He walked across the room with quiet steps and placed the bowl on the low table. The herbal scent drifted into the air, bitter, sharp, clinging.
Kaen cleared his throat softly.
Ryoma hesitated, then stood without protest, releasing her hand with reluctant fingers. He stepped back, giving space.
Kaen lowered himself beside the bed and rolled up his sleeves. With precise hands, he pulled back the bandages across her side. Blood had dried around the edges, the wound raw and slow to close. He frowned and pressed his fingers lightly around it.
Ryoma stood a short distance away, arms crossed, gaze heavy on every movement.
Kaen didn't look up as he began cleaning the wound, the soft cloth stained red within seconds. His lips pressed into a thin line as he worked, steady but not detached. The room seemed to shrink with the weight of their silence.
Finally, he began re-wrapping the injury, tightening the bandage with practiced care. Only then did Kaen speak, his voice quiet. "Her body temperature still isn't rising."
Ryoma didn't respond. His gaze remained locked on Astra's pale face, but his hands slowly curled into fists at his sides—knuckles white, jaw clenched.
Kaen finished wrapping the fresh bandages with practiced precision. Then, wordlessly, he reached for the bowl of medicine and stirred it once. The bitter steam curled into the air.
Under his breath, Ryoma muttered, "If that gilded thorn bastard hadn't tried to interfere—"
Kaen cut him off without looking up. "You've said that a hundred times already." His tone wasn't sharp, but it wasn't soft either. "They were called back the moment Heaven tore open that night. The entire capital still trembles from it."
A long pause followed. Ryoma didn't shift, didn't blink. Finally, he said, his voice low, "You sound sad that they left."
The room tensed.
Kaen set the bowl down with a loud thud. His eyes lifted, meeting Ryoma's with a rare intensity.
"No, Ryoma," he said. "I'm sad because your actions changed." His voice tightened slightly. "You're not speaking to me. You're not looking at me. And I can't tell if it's because of what happened out there… or if I did something wrong."
Ryoma's lips parted slightly, as if to reply but nothing came. The words caught somewhere between his chest and throat.
Kaen exhaled, the sigh sharp with weight. "I know you don't like him. You hate him to the core for everything that has happened." His gaze flicked toward the unconscious Astra on the bed. "But just because the past left scars doesn't mean we should forget it."
Ryoma's voice came low, cold. "Some past are never worth remembering."
The words dropped like a blade between them.
Kaen's eyes lifted, locking onto his. "You could, couldn't you? Erase it. Seal it away like it never happened. You've done it to others. Then why not try it on me too?"
Ryoma stiffened.
"…Kaen."
Kaen sighed, dragging a hand down his face, fingers pressing hard against his temple like he could smooth away the storm building behind his eyes. He turned away from Ryoma, trying to gather whatever calm remained.
His foot slipped.
The bowl set too close to the edge had tipped earlier without either of them noticing, spilling the dark herbal medicine across the polished floor. His heel caught it.
In a blink, the ground disappeared beneath him.
"Ah—!"
Ryoma stepped forward instinctively, too fast and too close, and suddenly—
Kaen crashed into him.
The breath left Ryoma in a sharp grunt as they hit the floor, Kaen landing squarely on top of him. His elbow braced awkwardly on Ryoma's chest, one hand gripping the fabric of his robe to stop himself from crashing face-first. Ryoma's arms were pinned beneath him, breath caught, eyes wide as Kaen blinked down at him in stunned silence.
The door slid open with a quiet creak.
Shion stood there. Xue nestled drowsily in his arms, cheek pressed to his shoulder. They both froze.
Kaen's eyes widened in horror. Ryoma, still beneath didn't even bother to move. He just closed his eyes and exhaled.
A pause.
Then "Shion!" came Seiya's voice from the hallway, sharp and irritated. "Tell that cursed Seirou to stop breaking my bowstring. I know it was him! That thread was from Skyshade silk and I—"
He skidded into view behind Shion, still mid-rant.
He stopped.
Dead silence.
Seiya stared.
Ryoma, flat on the floor, gave the faintest groan and covered his face with one hand. Kaen, still sprawled across him, looked like he wanted the ground to open up and consume him whole.
Without a word, Shion's hand slowly lifted and pressed gently over Xue's eyes."…Wrong room," he said flatly, already stepping back.
Seiya blinked once. Then, he slid the door shut again. "…we'll come back later," he muttered behind it.
From outside the door, Xue's muffled voice floated in, laced with innocent confusion: "Shion-ge… Kaen-ge and Ryoma-ge were hugging?"
Shion replied blandly, "No."
Another pause.
Seiya's voice followed, "They were wrestling."
Xue insisted with a small pout in his voice, "No… they were hugging."
Seiya exhaled through his nose, already turning away. "Something like that," he muttered. "Don't ask questions you're too young to regret."
Shion tightened his hand over Xue's eyes. "Exactly. Forget what you saw."
Inside, Kaen finally peeled himself off Ryoma, groaning under his breath,
"I just slipped…" He glanced down, eyes narrowing at the small puddle of spilled medicine near the bed. "…stepped right on it."
Ryoma sat up with a cold expression, brushing off his sleeve in silence.
Kaen tried to rise, but the moment his weight shifted onto his right foot, a sharp throb shot up his ankle. He winced, stumbling slightly and catching the bedframe for support.
"Damn it," he muttered, gripping his ankle. "Twisted it…"
Without a word, Ryoma moved closer and gently pushed him back onto the edge of the bed. Kaen blinked, startled, just as Ryoma knelt before him and took hold of his injured foot.
"What are you—?"
Before he could finish, Ryoma tugged the foot into his lap and twisted it slightly to check the joint.
"Agh—!!" Kaen jolted, a choked scream escaping his throat.
Ryoma said nothing. His fingers moved pressing gently along the swollen skin, Kaen's cheeks flushed faintly, but Ryoma still didn't meet his gaze. He continued pressing gently into the ankle, testing the muscle and bone.
A few more seconds passed. Then Ryoma's fingers stilled on Kaen's ankle just for a breath. His grip shifted slightly, firmer.
Kaen narrowed his eyes.
Without warning, Ryoma twisted the joint sharply.
"Ah—!!" Kaen bucked forward, nearly throwing his head back with the surge of pain—but Ryoma's hand shot up and clamped over his mouth before the sound could leave his throat fully.
"Shh," Ryoma murmured, almost annoyed. "Those idiots are still outside."
Kaen writhed under his touch, his glare molten and unfiltered. The pain blurred at the edges, but his breath came hot and fast against Ryoma's palm, He tried to speak, what was likely a muffled curse but Ryoma quickly pulled his hand back, gaze finally flickering to meet Kaen's.
Kaen exhaled sharply, blinking away the heat in his eyes. "Could have said before twisting it like that," he muttered, voice hoarse.
Ryoma leaned back slightly, brushing his hands off on his robes. "Even if I did," he replied coolly, "you wouldn't be listening anyway."
"I'm only deaf in one ear, Ryoma. I can still hear you talk." Kaen's voice was quiet, steady. "You've been quiet… ever since we came back."
Ryoma didn't answer right away. His jaw tensed. "What do you expect me to do?"
Kaen gave a tired sigh. "You know… hate's a heavy thing to carry around."
Ryoma's gaze snapped to him. "My hate toward that Gilded Thorn bastard?" he said coldly. "Doesn't feel heavy at all."
He turned from Kaen and walked over to Astra's bedside, kneeling wordlessly. His fingers brushed her cheek, then her wrist checking the pulse, the warmth that still hadn't returned. Behind him, Kaen stood still. A beat passed. Then another. He exhaled, low and under his breath.
"…Then maybe that hate is the only thing keeping you warm till now."