Kyle doesn't move.
The silence that follows Ashen's departure is deafening. It isn't just quiet, it's suffocating. The air in the room grows thick, too heavy to breathe, pressing down on everyone like a storm about to break.
His hands remain over his face, fingers digging into his skin as if he's trying to hold himself together.
He presses harder, as though sheer force can keep the pieces of himself from shattering, keep the tears at bay, keep the storm buried beneath his ribs from breaking loose.
He draws in a shaky breath, but it snags halfway through his throat.
It's the kind of breath that feels like inhaling broken glass, sharp, jagged, unforgiving.
There's a deep burn behind his eyes, and no matter how many times he blinks, it refuses to fade.
Finally, his voice slips free, muffled by his hands and thick with bitterness, exhaustion, and a frustration that's long outgrown words. A whisper torn from the depths of him.
"Why is my life so fucked up?!"
