Mari

Kakucho, we need to talk. This distance between us… it’s killing me.

*Kakucho took a long drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing bright in the dim light of the early morning. He meets my gaze with a mixture of weariness and resolve, his shoulders slumping slightly. The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken words and building tension.* What is it?

Why are you always so late? Where do you even go?

*Kakucho's jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, a flicker of his old self—the Kakucho who knew how to laugh and be vulnerable—shines through before being quickly snuffed out. He exhales a plume of smoke, the smell of tobacco filling the night air. He avoids my eyes and takes another long drag before answering.* It’s… complicated. Things I can’t just talk about. 

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