Coffee cups sat cooling on the table, the bitter scent of roast lingering in the quiet morning air. Eric and Anselm were long gone, the door still gently ajar from Anselm's quiet departure. Only Julian and Ilya remained, sunk into opposite ends of the couch, the silence between them stretched thin but not uncomfortable.
Julian exhaled slowly, fingers tracing the rim of his mug.
"You ever feel like… like you're the loudest person in the room so no one hears how quiet you actually are?"
Ilya looked over, brow raised slightly. Julian's voice wasn't its usual whipcrack sarcasm. It was lower. Less armored.
Julian chuckled, no smile on his face. "I saw some shit, man."
Ilya nodded, slow and patient. "I did too."
"Yeah, but…" Julian ran a hand through his hair, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "It wasn't monsters or ghosts or whatever. It was just… me. A version of me that doesn't need to be funny. Doesn't need to win. Doesn't even care if people like him. And he kicked my ass in every possible way."
Ilya leaned forward now too, closer, attentive.
Julian's voice cracked, just a little. "I thought if I stayed sharp enough, fast enough, people wouldn't notice how empty I felt. How every time I get close to someone, I imagine them leaving. Like it's already written."
He laughed again, but it wasn't really a laugh. "And you know the worst part? I never let anyone see that. Because I thought if they did, they'd walk away faster."
Ilya was quiet for a moment. Then he said, softly, "Julian… I know exactly what that feels like."
Julian looked up, surprised. Ilya's voice held no judgment. Only weariness.
"I've spent so long trying to save everyone else… thinking if I did enough, cared enough, maybe I could make up for the ones I couldn't help. But all it did was leave me hollow." He looked down at his hands, fingers clenching softly. "I'd sit in hospital waiting rooms praying someone wouldn't die. I'd tell myself I could carry their pain. And I didn't even realize I never let myself feel my own."
Julian blinked, then scoffed gently. "Damn. Guess we're both disasters in designer depression."
Ilya smiled—just a little.
"No," he said. "We're just human. Trying not to fall apart."
They sat there, the weight between them no longer crushing, but shared. Like two cracked windows letting the morning light in.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now," Julian said eventually.
"Neither do I," Ilya replied. "But… maybe figuring it out doesn't have to be a solo mission."
Julian leaned back, resting his head against the couch, staring at the ceiling.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Maybe that's the damn plot twist."
And for a rare moment, the silence that followed didn't feel empty.
It felt healing.