The house felt different without the others.
Not empty—never that—but quieter in a way that made every sound more vivid. The hum of the city outside filtered through the glass, distant traffic like a soft river. Sunlight spilled across the living room floor in pale rectangles, catching on dust motes that drifted like tiny stars.
Lunaria stood near the window, hair loose and pale as moonlit silk. Without his ribbon, it flowed freely down his back, brushing the delicate line of his shoulders. He wore a simple singlet, soft fabric clinging lightly to his slender frame, and black shorts that revealed long, elegant legs shaped more by motion than muscle.
Ash watched him from the couch.
He didn't mean to. He truly didn't. It just… happened.
There was something different about Lunaria when he was unaware. When he wasn't performing grace for the world or holding the fragile line between gentleness and power. In moments like this, he was simply himself—quiet, luminous, impossibly soft.
Ash shifted, fingers tightening around the edge of a cushion.
"You're staring again," Lunaria said without turning.
Ash froze. "I—what?"
Lunaria turned, eyes calm, lips curved in the faintest smile. "You always forget your breathing when you do that."
Ash exhaled sharply. "You're unfair."
"How?" Lunaria asked, genuinely curious.
"You exist like that," Ash muttered.
Lunaria blinked, then tilted his head. "Like what?"
Ash opened his mouth, then closed it. Whatever he meant refused to form into safe words. Instead, he stood abruptly. "We need something to do before I implode."
"Implode?" Lunaria echoed.
"Yes. You make the room too quiet."
"That sounds like your problem."
Ash scoffed. "You say that, but you're the one who hates stillness."
Lunaria considered it. Then his eyes brightened slightly. "Then let's make noise."
"With what?"
"An argument."
Ash paused. "An argument about…?"
Lunaria crossed the room, light on his feet. "That movie you watched last night."
"The one you fell asleep during?"
"I did not fall asleep," Lunaria said calmly.
"You were breathing in slow motion."
"I was resting my eyes."
"For forty minutes."
"I was analyzing."
Ash laughed despite himself. "You can't analyze a movie you didn't watch."
"I watched the important parts."
"You missed the entire middle."
"The middle was unnecessary."
Ash stared. "You are declaring war."
Lunaria's lips curved. "Good. I was bored."
They faced each other across the living room, invisible tension like a drawn wire.
"The protagonist made no sense," Lunaria said. "He abandoned logic for emotional spectacle."
"He was grieving."
"He was dramatic."
"He lost his brother."
"He lost his mind."
Ash stepped closer. "You don't understand character arcs."
Lunaria raised his chin slightly. "You don't understand restraint."
"Restraint is overrated."
"So is recklessness."
Ash laughed. "You fight monsters for a living."
"I fight with purpose."
"You nearly shattered reality last month."
"I was provoked."
Ash stopped inches from him. "You're provoking me now."
Lunaria looked up at him, unblinking. "That's the idea."
The space between them thinned.
Ash felt it—the same pull he always did. The way Lunaria's presence bent gravity. Not seductive. Not deliberate. Just… inevitable.
He swallowed. "You're impossible."
"And yet," Lunaria said softly, "you're still here."
Ash moved first.
Not forward—but sideways, darting around him. "If you think that movie was bad, then prove it. Reenact a better scene."
Lunaria blinked. "What?"
"Show me how you'd do it. Come on, genius."
Lunaria hesitated. Then his shoulders relaxed.
"All right."
He stepped into the open space of the living room. Closed his eyes. Drew in a breath.
When he moved, it was with the same elegance he used in battle—but gentler. Slower. He became a character shaped by sorrow, hands trembling, gaze distant. His voice softened into something fragile.
"I carried the weight alone," Lunaria said, voice low, "because I believed pain should not be shared."
Ash's smile faded.
The room changed.
Lunaria turned as if facing an invisible companion. "But loneliness is not strength. It is a wound pretending to be armor."
Ash felt something tighten in his chest.
"You see?" Lunaria asked quietly. "Less spectacle. More truth."
Ash didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because Lunaria wasn't acting.
He was remembering.
Ash stepped closer without realizing. "You're not fair," he whispered.
Lunaria opened his eyes.
They were too close.
The air thickened.
A beat passed.
Then another.
And suddenly, Ash laughed.
"Okay, fine," he said, retreating. "You win. Your version is better."
Lunaria blinked. "That was too easy."
Ash grinned. "I'm strategic."
"Liar."
"True."
They both laughed, tension easing.
Ash turned toward the kitchen. "I'm getting water. You always forget."
Lunaria followed. "I don't forget. I deprioritize."
"That's forgetting with flair."
They bumped shoulders.
Ash leaned away.
Lunaria didn't.
They both lost balance.
It happened in a blur—feet tangling, weight shifting wrong, gravity claiming them. Ash reached instinctively.
They fell.
Not hard.
But close.
Ash hit the floor first. Lunaria landed atop him, palms braced against his chest. Hair spilled like silver rain across Ash's face.
Time stopped.
Ash forgot how to breathe.
Lunaria froze.
Their eyes met.
Too close.
Too quiet.
Ash's hands hovered, uncertain.
Lunaria's lashes trembled.
Something fragile cracked open between them.
A door neither had meant to touch.
Then—
The door opened.
Kael's voice rang from the hallway. "We're back—"
Riven's laughter followed. "You will not believe what Juno tried to buy—"
Juno's protest cut in. "It was on sale!"
They stopped.
All three stared.
Ash lay on the floor.
Lunaria hovered above him.
Hair scattered.
Faces flushed.
Silence.
Riven blinked. "Should we… apologize?"
Kael folded his arms. "Or congratulate?"
Juno tilted his head. "Are you two… wrestling?"
Lunaria pushed himself upright so fast he nearly tripped again.
"This is not what it looks like," he said calmly.
Ash groaned. "It looks exactly like what it is."
Kael raised a brow. "And what is it?"
Ash sat up. "We fell."
Riven smiled slowly. "Into each other?"
Lunaria crossed his arms. "You are all insufferable."
Juno stepped closer. "We brought snacks."
Kael added, "And clothes."
Ash glanced at Lunaria.
Lunaria didn't look at him.
The space between them felt different now.
Not empty.
Charged.
Fragile.
Unspoken.
Kael watched them quietly.
Riven leaned against the doorframe.
Juno set the bags down.
None of them laughed.
Something had shifted.
And they all felt it.