Agung's throat felt tight, his heart drumming against his ribs like a bird trapped in a cage. He watched her—the way her fingers curled around the warm aluminum, the way she seemed to be bracing for a trap that wasn't there. He remembered the "Deadbeat" version of himself, the man who would have demanded her time and drained her energy for his own ego.
He kept his posture open, his hands visible and empty. He didn't lean in; he gave her the space she had clearly been deprived of for years.
"A gift from an old friend," Agung repeated, his voice quiet, stripped of any rehearsed authority. He didn't look at the other girls nearby, and he didn't glance back at his wives waiting near the gate. His world had shrunk down to the space between him and Kanata.
"I know that sounds like a line," he added, a self-deprecating flicker of a smile touching his lips. "And I know I don't look like much of a friend right now. I've been... away. A long, long way away."
Kanata's eyes narrowed, scanning his face. She wasn't looking for a corporate executive; she was looking for a threat. She popped the tab on the can, the quiet *hiss* of the seal breaking in the bustling terminal. She took a tentative sip, and Agung saw her entire frame shudder, just for a second. The infusion of vitality wasn't magic—it was simply the feeling of a long-needed rest being granted to a body that had forgotten how to recharge.
She lowered the can, her gaze lingering on the singed, blackened fabric of his jacket. The confusion in her face didn't vanish, but the reflexive, defensive edge of her posture softened, just a fraction.
"You're a weird guy," she said, her voice still raspy, but the sharpness had dulled. She didn't thank him. She didn't invite him to stay. She simply looked at him with an exhausting, profound sense of fatigue that reached all the way to her bones. "Most people who try to talk to us in here are trying to sell something, or they're fans who won't take 'no' for an answer. You don't smell like either."
She turned her head, looking past him for a moment, and Agung felt a jolt of terror—did she see Maki? Did she see the group?
"You look like you fell off a truck," she added, her eyes drifting back to him.
"I did," Agung admitted.
Kanata let out a huff of air—not quite a laugh, but a release of tension. She leaned back against the pillar, the drink clearly helping her regain a sliver of her equilibrium. "Well. Whoever you are, and whatever 'old friend' you're talking about... thanks for the coffee. It's warm."
She didn't ask his name. She didn't ask why he was there. She just took another sip, her eyes closing for a brief, fleeting moment of genuine comfort.
Agung felt a lump form in his throat. He had made it past the first wall—not by demanding, not by paying, but by simply showing up and offering something small, warm, and necessary.
"I'm just passing through, Kanata-chan," Agung said, carefully backing away a step, ensuring he didn't overstay the silence. "I just wanted to make sure you got a break today. Even if it's just for five minutes."
As he turned to retreat, he felt a strange, electric hum in the air. Kanata's eyes opened, watching him walk away, her expression unreadable.
As Agung retreats back to his wives, the weight of the realization hits him: she has no idea who he is, or perhaps, she has buried the memory of him so deeply that he has effectively become a stranger. How does he handle the crushing reality that he has to re-introduce himself to someone he's supposed to be married to?