Meanwhile, in Isatis City, Ilyas found himself caught within an increasingly complicated emotional predicament, one that he neither possessed the experience nor the confidence to properly navigate. What had initially been a simple act, tending to Darcy’s injured hands and carefully wrapping them with clean bandages, had somehow shifted the atmosphere between them into something far more fragile, far more difficult to define.

Then, without warning, Darcy had pulled him down into an embrace.

The suddenness of the gesture had caught Ilyas entirely off guard. His body had stiffened for a brief moment, his thoughts scattering in confusion. Ordinarily, he would have recoiled, instinctively placing distance between himself and another person. Physical closeness had never been something he welcomed easily, particularly from someone he had only recently begun to understand. And yet, in that moment, he had not pushed Darcy away.

Even now, as he replayed the memory repeatedly within the confines of his mind, he found himself unable to determine why he had remained still, why he had allowed the embrace to linger for those few fleeting seconds. There had been no logical explanation, no conscious decision. It had simply... happened.

The quiet that followed had not been uncomfortable in the conventional sense, yet it carried an undeniable weight, as though something unspoken lingered between them, pressing quietly at the back of Ilyas’s mind. He could not quite articulate what had changed, only that it had.

However, whatever fragile sense of calm had settled between them was abruptly shattered by the sharp, intrusive sound of his mobile phone ringing.

The noise had cut through the silence with startling clarity, jolting Ilyas back into full awareness. His heart had lurched as he fumbled for the device, already aware of who might be calling. Earlier that day, he had used his newly acquired phone to send a message to his older brother, Patric. At the time, it had seemed like a harmless action, merely a brief update. However, it now appeared that Patric had already arrived in another city, seen the message, and immediately decided to call.

Panic had surged through Ilyas in an instant.

Almost reflexively, he had pulled himself out of Darcy’s embrace, the movement abrupt and lacking any form of explanation. Without sparing even a glance backward, he had hurried toward his room, clutching his phone tightly as though it were both a lifeline and a threat. The door had closed behind him with a soft but definitive click, leaving Darcy sitting alone in the living room.

The conversation with Patric had been brief, yet it had left Ilyas unsettled. By the time he ended the call, his thoughts had already begun to spiral. He had expected, perhaps even assumed, that Darcy would take that moment as a cue to leave the apartment. It seemed like the natural conclusion to such an awkward interruption. Alternatively, if Darcy chose to stay, Ilyas had imagined that he would at least retreat to a room, put some distance between them until morning.

Yet neither of those expectations came to pass. Darcy remained.

Not only did he remain, but he also showed no indication of leaving. Hours passed, and still there was no sound of the front door opening, no sign of departure. It was as though Darcy had quietly decided to stay within the apartment indefinitely, a silent presence that Ilyas could neither ignore nor confront.

What followed was an increasingly absurd routine.

Ilyas began to move through the apartment with exaggerated caution, his footsteps light and deliberate, as though he feared that even the slightest noise might draw attention. He lingered behind his bedroom door for extended periods, listening intently for any indication of Darcy’s movements. Only when he believed the coast to be clear, when he thought he heard the faint sound of a door closing or the absence of footsteps, would he cautiously emerge.

Even then, his actions were hurried and restrained. He would quickly retrieve food, collect the takeout left outside, or pour himself a glass of water before retreating back into the safety of his room. The entire situation began to feel like a strange game of cat and mouse, except that Ilyas was acutely aware that he occupied the role of the frightened, overly cautious mouse.

Darcy, whether intentionally or not, had become the quiet, watchful presence that kept him constantly on edge.

The tension grew so severe that even the thought of Darcy knocking on his door made his chest tighten.

What if Darcy requested to speak with him face-to-face?

That imaginary scenario had filled Ilyas with an overwhelming sense of dread.

He had always considered himself an introverted individual, someone who struggled with even the most basic forms of social interaction. Conversations required effort, careful thought, and often left him feeling drained. Now, however, the situation had escalated far beyond ordinary discomfort.

He had somehow managed to attract the attention, and perhaps even the concern, of the true heir of the Ramsy family, a person whose status and presence alone made Ilyas feel entirely out of place. Worse still, when Darcy had sought comfort in the form of a simple embrace, Ilyas had reacted by fleeing as though he had been burned.

The shame of that realisation weighed heavily on him.

Alone in his room, he had begun to spiral into relentless self-criticism. Every action, every reaction, was dissected and examined from every possible angle. He replayed the moment of reaching for his help, the hug, the abrupt escape, each time finding new reasons to fault himself.

Regret settled deeply within him, accompanied by a growing sense of confusion. Why had he reacted that way? Why had he been unable to simply respond like a normal person?

The questions provided no answers.

After two days of this strained coexistence, the situation resolved itself in the quietest way possible.

One morning, when Ilyas cautiously emerged from his room, he noticed an unfamiliar stillness within the apartment. There were no sounds, no signs that anyone else was there. A faint sense of unease settled over him as he made his way toward the kitchen.

That was when he saw it. A note, placed neatly upon the counter, written in Darcy’s handwriting.

With a growing sense of apprehension, Ilyas picked it up and read.

The message was simple, yet it carried a weight that struck him far more deeply than he had anticipated. Darcy had apologised, for the discomfort, for overstepping, for anything he might have done wrong. He explained that he would not return to the apartment again.

The words were polite, considerate, and final.

Ilyas stood there for a long moment, the note held loosely in his hand, as a strange sensation began to rise within his chest. It felt as though something had slipped away from him. Something he had not fully recognised while it was still within his reach.

Now, standing alone in the quiet apartment, he could only feel the absence it left behind.

In the days that followed, Ilyas remained within the confines of the now-empty living space. He occupied his time with familiar routines, watching various dramatic productions, practising his acting skills, repeating lines and expressions in an effort to improve himself.

Yet his focus was inconsistent.

There were moments when his gaze would drift, unfocused, as his thoughts wandered inevitably back to Darcy. The memories surfaced without invitation: the careful way he had helped him in the hospital bathroom, the unexpected warmth of that brief embrace, the quiet persistence with which he had remained despite being avoided.

Questions began to form, circling endlessly within his mind.

Had Darcy been hurt by his behaviour? Had he interpreted Ilyas’s actions as rejection, or worse, as disgust? Why had he chosen to leave without insisting on a conversation? And perhaps most confusing of all, why had he decided to distance himself entirely, mirroring the very avoidance that Ilyas had displayed?

The lack of answers left him restless.

More troubling, however, was the realisation that he could not fully understand his own emotional response. The sense of loss he experienced felt disproportionate, almost irrational. He struggled to identify its source, to give it a name.

It simply existed.

On the fourth day following that night, the quiet monotony of the apartment was abruptly interrupted.

The door opened, and Micah Ramsy entered with an energy that seemed to immediately alter the atmosphere of the space. He carried with him a brightness that was difficult to ignore, his presence lively and animated in stark contrast to the subdued environment Ilyas had grown accustomed to.

Without hesitation, Micah stepped forward and wrapped Ilyas in a firm, enthusiastic embrace.

"How have you been?" he asked, his voice filled with unmistakable excitement. "Are you ready to join a production crew?"

The sudden shift in tone left Ilyas momentarily disoriented, yet he managed a small, tentative smile in response. Micah’s energy was infectious in a way that made it difficult to remain entirely withdrawn.

After a brief pause, Ilyas voiced the question that had been lingering in his mind. "Am I... allowed to go outside now?"

Micah’s expression shifted immediately, confusion evident as his brows drew together. "What do you mean? Have you just been staying here the whole time?" he asked, clearly taken aback by the question. After a moment, his gaze shifted, and he craned his neck slightly, glancing toward the direction of Darcy’s room.

"Where is Darcy?" he continued.

The question struck Ilyas with unexpected force. His heart gave a sudden, involuntary jolt, and for a moment, he found himself struggling to respond. "Why would I know?" he replied, his voice lacking its usual steadiness.

Micah’s confusion only deepened. "Because he lives here," he said plainly. "This place belongs to him too."

The words landed with startling clarity. Ilyas’s eyes widened as the realisation settled over him.

Until that moment, he had been operating under an entirely different assumption, that the apartment belonged solely to Micah, and that Darcy’s presence there had been temporary. That the young man was keeping a watch over him...

The truth, however, was nothing like what he had believed.