. . .
It's too bright.
Like the sun's trying to bleach him out of existence.
The world feels louder than he remembers. Even the air is heavy—like it has weight, like it's pressing against his chest just for breathing.
He blinks once. Twice.
Still real.
Still outside.
No beeping monitors. No fluorescent ceiling. No quiet footsteps of nurses pretending not to pity him.
Just… wind.
The automatic doors hiss behind him. He doesn't look back.
He stands there on the pavement like it might swallow him whole.
He glances down at his reflection in a puddle.
The beanie hides his ears.
Baggy pants like usual.
His face is older than it should be.
Eyes don't blink like a kid's anymore.
There's no more nurse beside him. No doctor. No suit. Just—
"Hey."
A voice.
Her voice.
He turns his head a fraction. Just enough to see the corner of Nat's coat sleeve.
She stood a few meters away. Not too close. Like she knows he might run. Or shut down. Or shatter.
She doesn't wear the coat from the hospital anymore. Just a plain hoodie and jeans. Hair tied up like she's doing chores. Like this is just another Tuesday.
It's not.
She tilts her head toward the car behind her. It's old. Faded paint. Manual lock.
"Wanna get in, or you wanna stand here and be bum?"
. . .
He doesn't move.
"Hm? What's wrong?"
He doesn't look at her, specifically the car.
Yet…
He sat on the passenger seat anyway. Exactly in the middle, he didn't want to get near any window.
Nat didn't comment, just driving.
That's okay, that's fine…
Just breathe…
Ignore the noises…
All the bumps… the turn…
The horn… the radio…
The billboard… the smiling Uma…
The race—
"You okay?"
A hand shook me out of my spiral, I looked around frantically.
"We're here, we can leave the car now."
'Thank you.'
Oh right…
I can't speak anymore…
________
The engine clicks off. Just soft metallic ticks now. Cooling down.
She doesn't open her door immediately.
The boy hasn't moved.
She glances over. He's sitting straight, knees together, arms folded — like someone expecting a verdict.
"Come on," she says, light as she can. "It's not a five-star hotel, but it's not haunted either."
She gets out. Walk around. Opens his door from the outside.
He flinches.
Just a flicker.
She pretends she didn't see.
"This way."
The lot's half-empty. Cement cracks. An old vending machine hums near the stairwell, plastered with fading Uma posters. Someone drew a red ribbon on Special Week's hair.
She snorts.
He doesn't even glance at it.
Up two flights of stairs. His shoes barely make a sound. The hallway smells like someone just cooked something spicy and weird.
At her door, she hesitates.
"This is the part where I pretend I cleaned."
Still nothing from him.
The door clicks open.
She doesn't say "Welcome home." That would be weird. This isn't his home.
But she holds it open a little longer than necessary — like she's letting him choose to come in on his own.
Inside, it's quiet. Clean. Sparse.
Not cold… just impersonal. Like a place meant to be lived through, not lived in.
She watches him hover just past the threshold, eyes flitting over the furniture, the walls, the unfamiliar stillness of it all.
"I cleared the shelf by the window," she says casually. "If you have stuff."
He doesn't. Of course not.
She toes off her boots. "Couch folds out. I'll get you a pillow that doesn't suck."
Still no response.
That's fine.
She heads down the short hall. Pulls linen from the closet. Hears him shift behind her — one step in. Then another.
Good.
He stands still—eyes sweeping the space, slow and cautious, like every chair might explode. Then, he walks. Another few steps.
The sofa is plain. Soft enough. He sinks into it like gravity finally caught him.
Just… sitting. Shoulders hunched, hands curled on his lap. Not trembling, just still. Not stiff, but distant.
His eyes don't track Nat. They don't track anything. He's looking through the room. Through the air. Like he hasn't caught up to his own body yet.
Nat watches from the kitchen.
"Want some water?" she offers gently.
No reply.
She sets a glass on the coffee table anyway.
Vivi doesn't touch it. Not because he's scared. He's just not there yet. Still buffering.
Time passes.
Five minutes.
Then—barely—he leans back.
Just a little.
Sinks further into the cushion.
It's not comfort.
But it's something.
"We should work on how to communicate, sigh…"
She rubs the back of her neck, scanning the room like words might magically appear on the walls. No luck. Still just plain white and awkward silence.
There's a moment where Vivi almost looks like he wants to say something.
Almost.
But then his throat tenses—like the thought itself hits a wall halfway up.
Nat sighs again, deeper this time, and gets up from the sofa. A few rustles, and she returns with her phone, unlocking it with a thumb swipe.
"Okay. Until we get you your own—here. Text-to-speech. Type what you wanna say, it talks for you. Kinda like a robot parrot, minus the attitude."
She plops the phone on the coffee table in front of him, screen lit and waiting.
Vivi doesn't reach for it.
Nat leans back, arms crossed.
"No rush. But this'll make things easier. Unless you prefer interpretive dance?"
No reaction. But there's the faintest flicker of something in his eyes. Annoyance, maybe. That's practically a conversation compared to earlier.
She shrugs, gets up again.
"I'll be in the kitchen. Don't make the robot cuss me out."
She disappears.
Silence returns. The only sound is the ticking of the wall clock and some distant city noise through the window.
Vivi sits there.
Staring at the phone.
It glows patiently.
He reaches out, hesitates. Pulls his hand back.
Stares.
Then, slowly, almost like it's something fragile, he picks it up.
He types.
Deletes.
Types again.
And presses play.
> "Hi."
The voice is tinny. Too cheerful.
But it echoes loud in the quiet room.
She grabs the phone like it just insulted her cooking.
"That voice doesn't suit you."
She scrolls through the settings without asking, muttering to herself.
"Too chipper. Too deep. Too British. Why is there a pirate voice? Okay, this one—try this."
She hands it back. The new voice is flat. Calm. Neutral, but warm enough to sound human.
He blinks at her. She shrugs.
"Better. Less 'customer service,' more... you."
He stares at the phone, thumb hovering.
Then—
> "Thanks."
This one lands differently. Quiet, like him. But steady.
She doesn't say anything this time. Just gives him a nod and disappears back into the kitchen again.
The faint sizzle of something hitting hot oil crackles from the kitchen. Vivi sits on the sofa, a cup of water half-drunk on the table. The silence isn't heavy anymore—it's just... there, like furniture.
Nat moves around behind him, not talking. No questions, no hovering. Just cooking. Occasionally the scent of garlic wafts into the living room, chased by something heartier—rice, maybe. Soy sauce. A pan clatters lightly. She hums under her breath once, stops halfway through the tune.
A few minutes pass. Then—
clink.
She sets down a plate on the coffee table in front of him. Fried rice. A sunny-side-up egg on top, yolk still soft. Steam rising in lazy curls. Nothing fancy, but warm, golden, alive.
"Eat when you're ready," she says. Not looking at him. Already walking back to the kitchen to grab her own plate.
Vivi blinks at the plate. His stomach growls. He didn't even realize he was hungry.
He doesn't touch it right away. He just stares, watching the steam rise, letting the smell settle into the air. Then slowly, cautiously—like he's still not sure if this is really happening—he picks up the spoon.
And eats.
________
Oh…
Oh...
It's good…
No…
It tastes too good….
Munch…
I want more…
More…
________
He shovels faster, like someone's going to take the plate away. Like he's trying to fill some bottomless ache with every bite.
Nat glances over.
Raises an eyebrow.
"Okay, damn," she mutters. "I didn't know I was that good."
No response—just Vivi, eyes wide, face flushed from either heat or pure spiritual food enlightenment. Possibly both.
She watches him chew like he's just discovered flavor. Then blinks.
"…Wait," she mumbles, pointing with her spoon. "Are you blushing?"
Vivi freezes mid-bite.
Catches her staring.
His ears twitch. He quickly pulls down his beanie like it's a shield.
"Why are you still wearing that!? We're indoors!"
Vivi slams the phone's screen like it wronged him personally.
> "Shut up!!"
The robotic voice blurts it out in that same chipper tone, which only makes it worse.
Nat bursts out laughing.
"Oh my god, that's even funnier when it's fake angry!"
Vivi curls tighter into the couch cushion, like maybe if he compresses hard enough, he'll vanish from reality.
She wipes her eyes, still snorting. "You're lucky you're cute when you sulk."
That gets his ears to twitch again.
He covers them immediately.
Nat grins, victorious.
"Don't worry. I'll pretend you're scary and brooding later."
He responds by aggressively sipping water like it's wine and he's trying to drown his shame.
She still smirking.
"You can take those off, you know."
He doesn't respond.
Just keep sipping. Eyes narrowed like that'll help the cup erase her from existence.
Nat's still smirking as she leans over the table a little. "Seriously. We're indoors. No paparazzi. No flash photography. I won't even post your ears on the internet."
She pauses. "Unless they're really cute. Then it's out of my hands."
His fingers twitch.
Then he slowly, dramatically, reaches up...
…and tightens the beanie.
Nat snorts into her spoon. "Coward."
He's pouting.
"Ok but seriously, I want to see them. It's your payment after I cooked a 5 star meal."
He narrows his eyes. Betrayal.
This woman fed him ONE good meal and now she thinks she owns his soul.
He types:
> "That was a 3.5 star meal at best."
She slams her spoon down, mock-offended.
"Three-point—THREE POINT FIVE?? After you moaned like a dying spirit finally tasting freedom?!"
Vivi types, eyes narrowed:
> "I was just… really hungry."
Nat: "You levitated off the couch."
> "Hunger. Makes you do crazy things."
"Oh yeah? So hunger also makes you blush like a maiden in a shoujo anime??"
Vivi glares. She keeps laughing.
"I'ma be honest, I can't take you seriously with those ears."
Vivi's glare deepens. His ears twitch indignantly beneath the beanie.
Nat wheezes, wiping her tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—it's just—"
She points the spoon at him, unrelenting.
"You try to act all mysterious loner dark prince, but your ears go boing every time you're mad. I can't unsee it."
He's still angy. Keep eating anyway.
Nat doesn't push it further. She leans back in her chair, nursing the last of her tea, just watching him work through his fury one bite at a time.
The apartment is quiet again—save for the subtle clinks of chopsticks, the hum of the fridge, and the occasional muffled sniff from Vivi as his nose betrays him. (Food that good always hits the sinuses a little.)
She doesn't say anything else.
Neither does he.
But the tension's gone.
Just two people sitting at a small table. Eating lunch. Breathing in peace.
"You're safe here, Vi. Live however you want."
Vivi doesn't lift his head.
He just stares down at his plate. One last grain of rice stuck stubborn on the edge.
His hand, mid-movement, stills.
Before he took the beanie off. Slowly.
Then—
Without a word—
He reaches up.
And pulls the beanie off.
Slow. Hesitant.
His ears flick up, adjusting to the air like they're not used to it.
They twitch when Nat doesn't react right away. No gasp. No mocking. No pity.
Just a soft look. Maybe a blink. Maybe nothing at all.
And then she resumes eating like it's the most normal thing in the world.
Vivi breathes.
Not deep. Not confident.
But he breathes.
_________
Night falls.
The apartment is dim, the only light spilling in from the streetlamp outside. It casts long, gold shapes across the floor. Muffled traffic. Distant Uma idol music from someone's TV. Otherwise, stillness.
Vivi sits on the futon Nat set up for him in the corner.
He hasn't moved in a while. Just sits with the blanket pulled up to his chest, knees tucked. His ears flick occasionally—not from sound. Just from thought. From memory.
He can't sleep. Not yet.
There's a phone charging on the floor beside him. Nat's old spare, now his for the time being. He stares at it. Thinks about typing something. Doesn't.
From the kitchen, there's a sound. Mug on counter. Water running. Nat.
He doesn't look. But he listens.
Then a light knock on the doorframe.
"You okay?" she asks. Her voice is low, like she's trying not to startle him.
He doesn't nod.
But he doesn't shake his head either.
Nat steps in with a mug. Steaming. Tea?
"Figured you couldn't sleep," she says.
He doesn't reach for it. Just stares.
She places it on the floor, close but not too close. Doesn't push. Doesn't sit.
"I'll leave it here," she says, turning.
But before she leaves, she pauses in the doorway.
"Goodnight, Vi."
The light clicks off.
He's alone again.
But it doesn't feel the same as before.
He stares at the steam curling from the cup. The scent of chamomile. His ears twitch once.
Maybe…
He'll sleep tonight.
________
The next day.
The apartment's filled with soft morning light. Curtains don't bother blocking it. Dust motes spin in golden air. From the kitchen: the scent of eggs and buttered toast—comfort food, cheap but warm. A radio plays low in the background. Some old UmaGroup songs from years ago.
Nat moves through the kitchen like someone used to being alone, but not unhappy about it. She doesn't hum, but she taps a spoon against the counter in rhythm. One plate, then two.
She glances toward the corner.
Vivi's still in the futon burrito. A barely-visible ear sticks out. Still. Peaceful.
She almost doesn't want to wake him. But she clears her throat.
"Made breakfast," she says. "In case you're hungry."
No response.
Then:
A twitch.
One hoof peeks out from the blanket.
Then the phone buzzes faintly on the floor.
> "Smells good."
Nat smiles.
"I'll be on the balcony. Come eat when you're ready."
[You might want to change this line]
She walks away, not expecting much.
But behind her, the futon shifts.
Vivi sits up slowly. Hair a mess. Eyes still soft with sleep. He rubs his face with his sleeve and reaches for the toast first—not because he's hungry, but because…
No, he's definitely hungry as an elephant.
. . . .
Living here is not that bad.
Better than the hospital obliviously.
". . ."
I still miss him…
_________
[Yes, it's winter. Vivi got out of the hospital in January.]
The ground is hard, but not snow-covered. Just frosted. Cold clings to the earth like grief that won't leave. The sky's a flat gray. Not dramatic, just… quiet. Like the world doesn't want to intrude.
Gravestones dot the field like names almost forgotten. A few flowers, stiff with frost. Wind threads through the bare branches above.
Vivi stands there, silent.
Bundled in a too-big jacket Nat found for him—old, military green, the kind that's seen too many winters. His breath fogs faintly in the air. He doesn't shiver. Just stare at the headstone.
His ears remain stiff.
Nat stands a few steps back. Hands in her coat pockets. She's not crowding. Not speaking.
She doesn't even know if he can cry, but if he could… this would be the moment.
Vivi kneels. Slow. Careful. Like the ground might break.
He starts writing something on the snow.
Nat can't see what he's writing. She doesn't pry. Giving him privacy.
He went on for 3 minutes. He stood up and hugged the stone.
. . .
Then… he let go.
He walks back to Nat as they leave the meadow of memories.
_______
The snow crunches quietly under Vivi's steps. His hands are stuffed into his sleeves, breath fogging up the cold January air. The walk from the graveyard is silent—muted, like the world's holding its breath.
Nat's phone buzzes. She glances down.
"I need to take this. Just stay close, okay?"
He nods. Doesn't say anything.
She steps off to the side, pacing in a small circle, voice hushed but urgent.
Vivi's left standing alone near the curb.
And then—
Meow.
A small sound. Weak. Barely a squeak over the wind.
His ears flick. He turns his head.
There—across the street—is a kitten. All white, barely bigger than a snowball. Limping. Trembling. Left front paw dragging uselessly behind.
It's stranded in the middle of the road.
And then he hears it.
The growl of an engine.
An SUV rounds the corner. Fast.
Too fast.
The light changes.
The car doesn't stop.
Vivi's heart punches his ribs. His legs move before his brain catches up.
He runs.
The beanie flies off. His ears snap into the open. Snow bursts behind him. His coat flutters like a cape. Pedestrians freeze. One woman screams. A kid points, "Mom, did you see that—?!"
He doesn't hear them.
Just the roar of the car, the cold air in his throat, the tiny mewl just ahead.
He slides down on his knees—arms out—scoops the kitten like it's made of glass.
The SUV blasts past behind him, horn blaring.
He tumbles into a roll, hits the sidewalk, and lands in a crouch, cradling the kitten to his chest.
Silence.
People stare. A man lowers his phone, still recording. His jaw hangs open.
Vivi blinks. Breath shaking. The kitten is shaking harder.
Behind him, his tail twitches once. The wind brushes his ears.
He hears footsteps. Nat's voice, sharp and panicked.
"Vivi?!"
He turns.
She sees everything.
They all see him.
_____________
The door slams shut behind them. Nat leans against it for a second—eyes closed, chest rising and falling like she just sprinted through a warzone.
Vivi stands in the middle of the room.
Still holding the kitten.
Still shaking a little.
The silence is too quiet now. Like the world outside is holding its breath.
Nat pulls herself away from the door. Walks past him without a word. She goes straight to the window.
Peeks through the blinds.
Curtains pulled tight. Lock checked again. Phone on silent.
Routine—but fast. Paranoid-fast.
She finally turns to him.
"…You're okay," she whispers, as if to convince herself.
Vivi doesn't nod. He just crouches slowly onto the futon, pulling the blanket around him again—this time with the kitten curled in his lap, purring like nothing happened.
The kitten stretches, unbothered. Blissfully unaware that her savior might've just set off a national incident.
Nat walks over. Kneels beside the futon. Her hand hovers, unsure—then rests gently on Vivi's back.
He flinches at first.
Then leans in.
Her voice cracks.
"I told you to wait…"
No blame in her tone. Just fear. Fatigue. Everything crashed down at once.
"You could've—"
She cuts herself off. Swallows it. Look at him fully now.
"You did the right thing."
. . .
She stands up again. Paces. Rubs her face. Starts muttering.
"Shit. They're gonna see it. They've already seen it. You were on camera. Your ears, your speed—God, Vi…"
She stops. Eyes red.
Then turns to him, softer now.
"I need to think. I need to call som-"
Her phone ring.
__________
She's in the bathroom. Door locked. Lights off.
The sound of the TV plays softly from the living room—some Uma variety show that Vivi found. The cat's probably sleeping in his lap.
She sits on the edge of the tub. Phone in her hands. Still.
Then it rings.
The ID? Just says: REDLINE.
She answers.
A voice. Calm. Practiced. Final.
> "Plan A is now active. Your role is concluded, Miss Natalie."
She doesn't speak. Just breathe.
> "A transport team is on route. We'll be retrieving him within 1 hour. Full relocation protocol."
Her throat tightens.
"You said I'd get to protect him—"
> "You did. You kept him alive. But protection and potential aren't the same."
Pause. Then—
> "The world knows now. We're simply adapting."
. . .
That's it… The call ends…
The phone falls from her hand.
Hits the tile floor with a soft clack.
She doesn't move.
Not right away.
One hour…
One hour left with the boy who was never supposed to be hers…
But became hers anyway.
She stands. Grabs a towel. Wipes her face even though she isn't crying.
Not yet…
_________
Vivi's curled under the blanket, cat pawing at the edge of his sleeve.
He looks up when she walks in.
Tilts his head. Curious.
She smiles at him.
A soft one.
The kind you use when you're trying not to break.
She walks over. Sits beside him on the floor. Wraps her arms around him and pulls him close.
He leans into her, no questions asked.
Still trusting…
Still safe…
. . .
She thinks about telling him…
But what would she even say?
"You're leaving"?
"They're taking you"?
"I failed you"?
She can't…
Instead, she just whispers:
"Let's stay here a little longer, okay?"
He nods. Settles in against her.
The cat climbs up into their lap, curling between them.
The clock ticks on the wall…
. . .
Sigh…
"...Are you hungry? Wanna eat lunch?"
The ticking clock on the wall keeps a steady beat.
The kind you could almost mistake for normal life—if you weren't listening too hard.
Nat doesn't look at it.
She exhales through her nose, steps into the small kitchen. Her hands move on instinct now.
"Let's make lunch, yeah?" she says, voice trying its best to sound light. Unsinkable.
Vivi tilts his head, still cradling the kitten against his chest like something precious that could disappear if he looked away too long. His eyes meet hers. Curious. Confused.
But he nods.
She smiles. It doesn't reach her eyes. "You still like miso soup? I think I've got tofu left. Oh—and rice. That's easy."
He perks up slightly at that. Nudges the cat into a warm towel nest on the couch. Then follows her in.
---
The kitchen is quiet. Peaceful, even. The kind of silence only found in tired apartments and temporary peace.
Nat pulls ingredients from the fridge. Her hands shake just once—barely—but she steadies them against the counter. She doesn't let Vivi see it.
He's already beside her, watching. Waiting.
She glances down. "Wanna help me cut the tofu?"
He nods again, brightening a little. He grabs the small cutting board. She hands him the knife without thinking, then stops—remembers—and pauses.
But he handles it carefully. He always does.
Quiet boy. Gentle hands.
They work in tandem. He cuts slow, precise slices. Nat stirs the dashi broth, adds in the miso, tastes. Nods.
"This might be my best one yet," she says.
The rice cooker clicks.
The cat mews faintly from the living room. Vivi rushes over, checks on her like a nurse with a newborn. Make sure the towel's still warm, the little nose still twitching.
Nat watches him from the doorway.
There's something about him like this.
Moving quietly. Gently. Soft feet on the hardwood. The way his hair flops a bit now that the beanie's gone.
The way he looks so… normal.
Her throat tightens.
. . .
Lunch is served.
They sit on the floor, cross-legged. Steam rises from the bowls. The kind of meal that smells like home.
She watches him eat. He eats like he always does—quick, but polite. Pauses every now and then to push more tofu into her bowl.
She lets him.
"We should name that little fella, any ideas?"
He shook his head.
"How about… Yukki. Cuz it's January and snowing, and she's white like powder.
"Meow?"
"Is that a yes?"
The cat licks her finger. Vivi nods happily.
". . ."
________
Time trickles down the wall like melting ice.
Nat glances at the clock.
Thirty minutes left.
She doesn't say it out loud.
Instead, she picks up his bowl. "Want seconds?"
He lights up, offers his own bowl too.
She takes them both.
She stares at the empty bowls a beat longer in the kitchen. Doesn't move.
Her fingers grip ceramic so tightly her knuckles turn white.
Then she breathes.
And keeps goi-
Knock Knock*
Nat stands still.
One hand still holding his bowl, the other hovering over the rice cooker. Steam rises, soft and warm and mockingly normal.
She glances at the door, then at Vivi.
He's on the floor with Yukki in his lap, gently petting her fur, unaware—or maybe just pretending not to notice. His tiny legs swing off the cushion. His ears twitch, but his eyes don't look up.
She takes a breath.
"Guess that's them."
No panic in her voice. No fear.
Just... a soft resignation, buried under practiced calm.
She scoops the rice anyway. Fills the bowl. One more second. One more moment. Set it on the table like nothing's happening.
"Eat up while it's still warm, okay?"
He nods. A small one. Barely there. Still not speaking.
She sits beside him again, folding her legs. Smiles.
He smiles too.
But it doesn't reach his eyes.
And neither does hers.
She doesn't touch her food. Just watch him eat. Watch him stroke the kitten curled up in his lap, content and unaware of the world outside the door.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The clock on the wall stabs every second into her chest.
Another knock. This time firmer. A man's voice on the other side, calm and unmistakable:
"Miss Natalie. We're ready when you are."
She closes her eyes for half a second.
Holding in…
Breathe in… breathe out…
. . .
Then she stands and grabs his bag.
She doesn't even need to pack, cuz they forgot to unpack yesterday…
. . .
It's almost like this was predestined.
That she wasn't supposed to keep him around…
She puts the bag near a wall and looks back.
He didn't finish his bowl.
She doesn't say anything. Just walks over and kneels beside him.
The kitten shifts in his lap, sensing the tension. His hands have stopped moving. They just rest there now—lightly, almost afraid to hold on.
Nat brushes a strand of hair behind his ear. Her voice barely makes it past a whisper.
"...You can bring Yukki with you."
His eyes flicker. He doesn't look at her. Just keeps staring down at the half-eaten lunch, like if he focuses hard enough, maybe the world will freeze again.
She reaches for the kitten gently, wrapping her in a small towel and placing her carefully into the side pocket of the bag.
The softest meow.
Then silence.
Another knock. No words this time. Just a reminder.
It's time.
She kneels in front of Vivi again, holds out her hand.
"Let's go."
For a second, he doesn't move.
Then slowly… he reaches out. Take her hand.
It's cold.
They walk to the door together.
She opens it.
A tall man in a suit greets them. No malice, no sympathy. Just… duty. He nods.
"We'll take it from here."
She hands over the bag, then hesitates—just one second.
But Vivi's still holding her hand. Tightly.
Like he knows.
Like he doesn't want to let go.
She kneels one last time. Leans in close. Her voice is tight now. Cracking.
"Listen to me… remember what I said yesterday?"
"Live the way you want, not others. You hear me?"
He doesn't blink, his grip tightens.
"Take this phone, so you can communicate with people. It was supposed to be a surprise gift but this works too. It has my number too. C-call me okay?"
He took the phone, hand shaking.
She leans in.
Hugs him.
Tighter than ever before.
And then…
She lets go.
"Don't be too hard on him."
One of the agents gives the faintest nod. Not agreement. Not reassurance. Just acknowledgement.
Vivi stands there frozen. Shoulders trembling, but not crying.
Not here.
Nat stays kneeling even as they take his hand.
They guide him away slowly.
He doesn't look back.
She doesn't call out.
The door closes softly behind them.
Click.
And that's it.
. . .
Silence.
Then her knees give out.
She doesn't cry at first. Just stares at the floor, where his slippers still sit by the mat. One of them crooked, like he always left them.
Still warm.
Her hands ball into fists.
"It was just a kitten…"
She whispers it.
Like if she says it softly enough, it might undo the last 48 hours.
But nothing answers.
Just the ticking of the clock.
Still moving forward.
___________