His voice was calm. Almost too calm.
"And sometimes," he said, exhaling slowly, "I just wish I could vanish. Not die. Just… not exist. For a while. You ever feel that? Like the air around you is too tight, too loud. And you just want to press pause on being a person for a second."
I blinked. My heart clenched.
"Are you okay?" I asked gently.
He finally looked at me.
And smiled, crooked, tired. "Not suicidal, Aria."
"Yeah, sure. That's exactly what a suicidal person would say."
He snorted. "That's my line."
I shrugged. "Still true."
He didn't deny it. Just laughed softly, tugging at a thread on his jacket.
"It's not like I'm not grateful," he said. "I know how lucky I am. Born into luxury. Safety. A name. But… sometimes I sit down and think about everything going on in the world. The wars. The lies. The way people treat each other. The things we do for power. It's not a great place, you know?"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. I know."
