The apartment door closed with a dull thud behind them.
For a moment, the silence was thick and breathless—two shadows standing in the half-light of their shared space, full of everything unsaid.
Then Yuu turned, voice sharp and brittle, his composure cracking like thin glass.
"You didn't even try to fight for it."
Kenji blinked, slowly. "What?"
"You just let her fire you, Kenji! Like it didn't mean anything! Like you didn't mean anything."
Kenji stood still, his coat still folded over his arm. "What was I supposed to do? Argue? Make it worse? Embarrass you more?"
"This isn't about embarrassment!" Yuu snapped. "It's about the fact that you gave up. On your job, on us. You just stood there and took it like you expected to lose!"
Kenji's eyes narrowed, stunned, hurt creeping in behind the stillness. "You think I didn't care?"
"You acted like you didn't!" Yuu's voice broke. "You didn't even look at me after she said it. You just nodded and walked away."
Kenji was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. Even. But hollow.
"Alright, I get it."
Yuu froze.
Kenji looked at him—really looked, something unreadable and final in his eyes—and said, "Goodbye, then."
Then he turned, walked to the door, and left.
No shouting. No door-slam. Just silence, sharp and cutting.
And just like that, it was over.
The apartment was still warm from the heater. Two mugs still sat on the counter, half-full. A hoodie of Kenji's hung on the back of the chair.
But Yuu stood alone in the middle of it all, heart pounding, realizing far too late:
He hadn't wanted Kenji to fight the company.
He'd just wanted him to fight for them